A Hundred Ways to Say You're My Brother
by Griselda Banks
Summary: Because they care for each other. Because they are the central driving force of the series. Because they inspire dozens of fics every day. Because I am crazy, and they are the reason why. Mentions of Royai and EdWin, but NO ELRICEST!
1. Military Personnel

**Author's Note: It is October 3, the day Ed and Al burned down their home to set off on their quest for the Philosopher's Stone. I like to commemorate this day each year by doing something special about FMA. This year, I decided to start posting this. I'm probably the only person crazy enough to do this, but bear with me. Royai and EdWin both get 100 themes, and I figure the Elric brothers deserve a 100 Themes even more! So, I'm taking the Royai 100 Themes and setting them to the Elric brothers. Crazy, right? XD But it's super fun anyway. None of these little pieces are really my best work, and I'm more proud of some than others, but I hope this fic will be a testament to just how much I love those brothers. One last thing: There will be ABSOLUTELY NO ELRICEST! I will try to update every two weeks.  
**

**This first one was written before I really knew what I was doing, but I think it starts the fic off well – sort of beating about the bush at first, then getting down to the point at the very end.**

**Timeline: Sometime after Ed joins the military**

**Theme 1: Military Personnel**

_For my own Nii-san - for whom I would give up arm, leg, and soul_**  
**

Edward Elric was _not_ cut out to be in the military. He was convinced of this by the first week after being accepted into the military as a State Alchemist. He hated sucking up to his superiors, for one thing, and always forgot to tack that annoying 'sir' onto the end of everything he said. He never quite got the hang of the whole saluting thing, and never bothered to do it around the superior he saw most often. He didn't like the thought that every one of those superiors was looking down on him – both figuratively and literally.

Basically, he hated being inferior to anyone.

What Edward _loved,_ though, about being a State Alchemist was that he had automatically been given the rank of Major. Thus, _he_ got to be the recipient of all those sucking-ups, those 'sir's, those salutes and bowings and scrapings. He enjoyed himself thoroughly when men twice as old as he was snapped to attention, crying, "Edward Elric, sir!"

But there were still many ranks above his head, many people he had to pay respect to, just because they had a few more lines and stars on their shoulders. Why? Why did he have to pay respect to them, when they hadn't experienced even half of what he had? Had they become a State Alchemist at the age of twelve? Had they been forced to watch their mother die, not once but twice? Had they retrieved their brother's soul from the Gate, attached it to a suit of armor, and nearly died of blood loss in the process?

No, of course they hadn't. And of course he was still required to respect them, salute them, and act as if they knew better than he when they didn't, didn't, _didn't!_

There were only a few people Edward would voluntarily salute: First Lieutenant Hawkeye, Major Armstrong, Lieutenant Colonel Hughes, and Colonel Mustang – the latter only when he was in a very, _very_ good mood. These were people who had experienced much, much more than he had, and they still remained loving, caring people, untouched by hatred or bitterness or some sadistic lust for power. For that, he respected them above all others in the military – and out, for that matter.

Yet even this singling out proved that Edward wasn't really fit for being a military personnel. A soldier couldn't have the leisure of choosing which officers to respect; he had to respect them _all._ Sometimes, Edward wondered why he had ever joined the military at all, if he was such rubbish at it.

And then he would look at Alphonse.


	2. Gunshot

**Author's Note: Thanks again to everyone who reviewed the first chapter! I really do appreciate it.**

**I hate what I've done to Al in this one, but the idea stuck and wouldn't go away. Once I came up with this, no other fic with this theme would suffice.**

**Timeline: None**

**Theme 2: Gunshot**

Alphonse Elric was a cheerful boy, everyone agreed on that. As a baby, he had begun to smile and giggle sooner than most newborn infants, and he didn't fuss as much either. As he grew, mothers in the village of Risenpool would positively melt at his three-toothed grin. And as the baby grew into a strong young boy, he remained cheerful most of the time.

Alphonse was _extremely_ ticklish. One barely had to touch his neck to elicit a shriek of laughter, and his older brother used this at times to torture him into submission. Alphonse was the one who always laughed at corny jokes and made up some of his own, and he was always the first to lose in games where one had to keep a straight face.

Trisha Elric always used to say that her little Alphonse's smile brightened up every room. And Alphonse loved smiling at the ones he loved. He loved seeing their frowns smooth out into answering smiles that said they loved him back.

Now, this was not to say that Alphonse was never sad or angry or upset. He fought with his brother occasionally, remaining angry and miserable for hours. He cried for days when their mother died. He worried right up to the last moment of the transmutation that changed their lives forever.

In an unfeeling, sleepless suit of armor, Alphonse found a greater need than ever before to be cheerful, to look on the bright side of life. Still, it was hard. There was so much he could no longer experience, so much time to dwell on the way things should have been, the things he should have done to prevent all of this from happening. And so he would slump into discouraged despair, each time making it harder to pull himself out.

Yet he always managed to, in the end. And when he couldn't drag himself up, his brother would. Whenever Alphonse couldn't smile, even in the deepest reaches of his soul, Edward was always there to smile for him.

And finally, when Al got his body back, he found himself smiling even more than he had before he had lost his body in the first place. It seemed that nothing could bring him down; he always found something to be happy about in even the darkest of situations. He pointed these things out, and this always had an infectious effect on the people around him, till they became increasingly cheerful as well. Some joked that he should have been called the Smiley Face Alchemist. And when Alphonse heard these comments, he could only throw back his head and laugh.

Yes, Alphonse Elric was a cheerful boy...until the gunshot ripped through his life, tearing it apart by the very seams, by killing his brother.


	3. Battlefield

**Author's Note: Due to unforeseen circumstances, the next chapter will be delayed by a couple weeks. Thank you for your patience.**

**Timeline: None**

**Theme 3: Battlefield**

It was the calm before the storm. Edward Elric crouched in the trenches, clutching the machine gun to his chest. His limbs trembled, anticipating the excitement, the fear, the adrenaline that would be rushing through his entire body soon. He wanted the battle to start, to end this tension inside him, but at the same time he dreaded its inception. He had never been in a real battle before, never truly encountered warfare. Such things had always seemed to happen to someone else, in some country far from his own. He read about them in history books, shuddered to hear the brutalities involved in warfare, but all that was just an abstract pity for people he didn't know. Now, it was happening to _him_.

Edward heard the signal and straightened up, fingers tightening around his weapon, groping mechanically to ensure it was loaded, safety off, cocked and ready to go. Then came the order: "Charge!"

Scrambling up the mud embankment, Edward felt the expected adrenaline rushing through his body. There was no time to think now, no time to reconsider his decisions or second-guess his actions. He was on top of the hill now, rushing towards the enemy line. The enemy soldiers were clad in shadows, and he couldn't see their faces, but he could clearly see their guns, steadying and beginning to fire.

Edward's gaze swung to his brown-haired General in the front line and felt his heart stutter to a stop as bullets ripped through her chest, bright red staining the bright blue, turning it an ugly purple. Slowly, the General fell backwards, till she sprawled on the ground, staring lifelessly up into the sky. Explosions ripped through the air, dirt and stones raining down upon the soldiers all around, but Edward couldn't tear his eyes away from his dead General.

Gradually, he became aware of a voice calling to him. "Brother!" it yelled over the screaming of shells. "Brother, we have to get out of here!"

Edward shook himself, turning his gaze to Alphonse, his little brother. Tears made silvery tracks down his mud-spattered face, but Alphonse's jaw was clenched in determination. "Al," Edward called to him over the noise and confusion. "We're going to break through the lines! They can't take our General!"

Alphonse looked terrified. "That's dangerous, Brother! We'd be risking our lives!"

Edward met his little brother's eyes with determination. "All great deeds warrant a risk, Al. It wouldn't be worth doing if our lives weren't on the line!"

"O-Okay," Alphonse quavered.

"Let's go!" Edward nodded at his brother and charged towards the enemy line. He began firing, but all too soon he was hit as well. Blood gushed down his side, but Edward struggled onward.

One of the dark enemies lifted his gun and fired at Edward's heart, but he never felt the bite of cold, cruel metal. Alphonse threw himself in the way, jerking as bullet after bullet ripped through his chest, and he fell at his brother's feet.

For a while, a horrible chill encased Edward's chest in ice, and darkness clouded his eyes so that he couldn't see anything. Yet the shadows slowly cleared, and Edward realized he had plunged straight into the enemy line, taking down soldier after soldier with no heed for his own safety. He glanced over his shoulder for a moment and saw to his horror that the soldiers were crowding around Alphonse, raising their weapons to fire again.

A yell of rage tore out of Edward's throat, and before he knew what he was doing he began to charge headlong into the soldiers' midst. Using reserves of strength he didn't even know he had, Edward grabbed his brother's limp body, slung it over his shoulder, and broke back out of the fighting, racing to the nearest cover he could find. Once there, he let Alphonse down and looked at the face he knew so well. To his surprise, Alphonse was alive. Barely.

Losing no more time, Edward tore off his shirt and used it to staunch the flow of blood.

A small, weak voice croaked, "Brother? Is the battle over?"

Edward smiled sadly. "Yes, Al. But the war is far from finished." He took a moment from his ministrations to look up at the torn, bloody ground all around them. There would be many more battles fought on the battlefield of the Elric brothers' lives, but Edward knew that victory was more than just a possibility, with his little brother at his side.

**Explanation: This is a figurative, metaphorical story attempting to illustrate how the Elrics' lives are an epic battlefield. The General represents their mother, and the part where the dark soldiers wound Ed and nearly kill Al represents the transmutation, where Ed loses two limbs and Al loses his body.**


	4. Grave

**Author's Note: This takes place in what I like to call my "Nina-Trisha canon" (a series of fics about Ed's children). To date, this is the final one. It's more about Ed's family, I suppose, but since Al is the most important person in his family, it also has a lot to do with their brotherhood.**

**Timeline: After "Promise" (Chapter 10 of this fic)  
**

**Theme 4: Grave**

An old man stood on the crest of the hill, silhouetted against the setting sun. This man leaned on a slender cane, which he clutched in both hands – one feeble and knotted, the other firm and smooth. To all appearances, he had to be at least eighty years old, but in truth he was little over sixty-five. Various things had contributed to this aged appearance. Circumstances had led to him being a little undernourished as he grew from childhood to adolescence, and one or two deadly risks he had taken in his younger days had taken several years off his life. But perhaps what contributed the most to his premature aging were the smooth stones he faced on the top of this hill.

The stones were white, with names carefully carved into their faces. The man wheezed out a weary sigh as his tired old eyes passed over the names yet again. The first one read _Trisha Elric._ He could still remember the day they buried her. His mother had died when he was ten, and he had never stopped missing her. He missed her smile, her laugh, her warm hugs, her gentle kisses.

On that same headstone, written underneath the first name, was the single name _Hohenheim._ Somehow, it looked sad on its own, as the man it had belonged to had been most of his life. The old man had thought once that he would be allowed to spend many years with his father, once the two of them were reconciled to one another, but that was not to be. All too soon, he had died, asking only to be buried next to his long-dead but still beloved wife.

The old man sighed and looked at the next stone, marked with the name _Sara Elric_. This one was smaller, for it marked the resting place of a two-year-old girl, snatched from life at such an early age. The old man closed his eyes on the sight; even after all these years, thinking about his dead little daughter brought stinging pain to his chest. He couldn't understand why someone so young like her had to be taken away, but he supposed that wasn't for him to understand. He could only hope that she was in a better place now, far away from sickness and pain.

But that was not the end to this old man's grief. He paused for a moment, as though his eyes were unwilling to bring his heart any more pain. He knew what name would be on the next stone, but he forced himself to read it anyway: _Winry Elric._ Tears welled up in his ancient eyes, and he hunched over his cane, letting them slide down through the wrinkles in his face. He had loved his wife very much – he still did, in fact. He could still see her old face smiling up at him from her deathbed. _"Don't cry,"_ she had said as he sat at her side, holding her hand tightly in both of his. _"I want your tears to be tears of joy, as mine have always been – because of you."_ But he had been unable to fulfill her request. How could he cry tears of joy when she was farther from him than he had ever been from her in all his travels?

The old man took his handkerchief out and tried to stem the flow of tears, but it was impossible, for his eyes strayed to the final headstone of his family. _Alphonse Elric._ The tears came faster and faster, dripping down onto the dry earth that encased his little brother's body. His little brother's _perfect,_ flesh body. Fifty-five years was too short of a time to cherish a real body again, the old man thought. Even at the end, Alphonse had rubbed his fingers against his older brother's skin and sniffed at his hair, as he had the first day he could do those things again.

Edward Elric traced one metal finger over the carved letters of his little brother's name. He felt so lost without his brother to point the way. Every day, he lived only to see the night, so he could close his weary golden eyes and dream about days long gone, friends long dead. He knew he was being a fatalistic, foolish old man, but he couldn't help it. His loved ones persisted in leaving him, dying and leaving him alone here, standing on a hill and staring at their names carved on their graves.

"Dad?"

Edward let the speaker think he hadn't heard, to give himself a chance to wipe away his tears. One nice thing about being old was that people expected him to be hard of hearing, so even though he had surprisingly good hearing for someone his age, he could still pretend sometimes.

"Dad?"

Edward turned around, pretending he had only heard the second time. A young man stood a short distance away. Well, by some standards he wasn't so young, Edward supposed; Maes was in his forties now, his black hair just beginning to turn grey in little tufts and patches. He greatly resembled his father, but that brought about sad thoughts Edward had no wish to entertain, so he pushed them aside.

Maes smiled a little sadly and said, "It's getting cold out, and supper's almost ready. You should come home now."

Edward glanced around, noticing for the first time the biting wind that tossed his long white hair all about. "You're right," he admitted, shivering a little, and followed Maes down the hill, using his cane to help him with his limp. Maes lent his arm as well, and Edward leaned on it gratefully. In years long past, he would have snorted in disgust at such an offer, grumbling something to the effect of, "It's not like I have one foot in the grave, young man; don't be so eager for that inheritance of yours." But he just didn't have the energy to fight it anymore, and even he had to admit that his body, strong and lithe for so long, was finally giving out on him.

The walk back home was silent for the most part; Edward's son-in-law knew from experience not to talk about the graves on the hill. But that silence was shattered as soon as Maes opened the door to the yellow house.

"Dear, can you reach this bowl for me?" Nina called from the kitchen, over the sounds of several pots boiling and the teakettle whistling.

"Be there in a minute!" Maes called back, hanging up his and Edward's coats.

"Mommy!" shouted a child's voice from somewhere upstairs. "How do you spell 'hippolatamus'?"

"What?" cried Trisha from the bathroom, raising her voice above those of two cousins who did _not_ want to get their baths.

"H-I-P-P..." shouted a man's voice from farther in the house.

"Grampa!" a small boy yelled, grabbing two fingers of Edward's hand. "Come help me with this equation!"

As Edward was forcibly dragged farther into the house, he reflected on how he really had two families – one noisy and one absolutely silent. One in the house and one under the hill. One living and one dead, but they were both his family. And whether they were hidden from sight beneath earth and stone, or smiling and chattering all around him, he knew he loved them all.


	5. Heiki and Heiki

**Author's Note: This was an experiment for me in style and subject matter. It took me forever to come up with something to fit the theme, but I finally came up with something.**

**Timeline: Midseries**

**Theme 5: Heiki (weapon) and Heiki (fine)**

"I'm fine," he said when Alphonse greeted him that morning, after a night of tossing and turning; Alphonse asked him if he had had a nightmare, but he denied it.

"I'm fine," his smile said when Alphonse was doubtful.

"I'm fine," he said when Alphonse called through the bathroom door, asking him why his shower had stretched from the usual fifteen minutes to half an hour.

"I'm fine," he said when Alphonse asked him why his normally ravenous hunger now led him to push his bacon and eggs around on his plate, hardly even tasting them.

"I'm fine," he told Colonel Mustang when he handed in his latest report, evading his superior's questions about why he was being so mild-mannered today.

"I'm fine," he said when Lieutenant Hawkeye caught him going through her guns and asked him why his face was so pale.

"I'm fine," he laughed as he asked a somewhat mystified Lieutenant Colonel Hughes if he could borrow one of the man's small throwing knives.

"I'm fine," he assured Alphonse when he disappeared into the men's room after hardly eating anything for lunch.

"I'm fine," he sobbed five minutes later, struggling against the firm grip his armored brother had on his wrist, the razor-sharp knife quivering mere centimeters from his jugular vein. "I'm fine."

_I'm fine._

_Don't worry._

_I'm fine._

"No, Brother," Alphonse whispered as he gently pried the weapon from his brother's hand. "You're not fine."


	6. Death

**Author's Note: Such a broad theme! It took me longer than I'd expected to come up with something for this one, but finally I decided on this. It's sort of the two best ideas I could come up with, slapped together and hopefully made meaningful.**

**Timeline: Animeverse; after entire series and movie**

**Theme: Death**

Sometimes Alphonse Elric thought about his life as a timeline, of sorts. At the far left end was the date of his birth, April 30th 1900. The line stretched on to the right, vague and uncertain as his future and death were. But in between the beginning and the end were little marks on the line, small incidents that signified the times when his life changed, more or less dramatically with each one.

And when Alphonse examined this mental timeline, it struck him how many of these marks were someone's death.

The first one, of course, was his mother. She had died of a deadly illness, kept secret even from her own sons. Too soon after that first death came the biggest mark on the timeline, the one incident that had changed his life the most: the night of the transmutation. In a way, Alphonse had been forced to witness his mother's death all over again, and if you thought about it, he had died as well. It was only his brother, tugging at the strings of fate, that allowed him to be here today.

Alphonse had expected not to experience any more death after that one terrible night, but he was wrong. Nina Tucker, a sweet little girl he had grown very attached to, was turned into a chimera by her own father, and then killed by the mass murderer, Scar. Nina had felt like a little sister to him, and though he couldn't cry, he shed unseen tears on the inside of his soul when they found her remains.

Though they only found out about it later, the next death was that of another good friend, Lieutenant Colonel Hughes. His death was followed by Greed's, and Martel's, and Scar's, and Lust's, and Wrath's, and Edward's, and his own. It was strange, to think that he and his brother had died, yet they were still here. Alphonse still had nightmares of that night. He witnessed, again and again, Envy's arm stabbing right through Edward's body. Edward slumped to the ground, blood pooling around him, his face utterly blank, all the life gone from his golden eyes. And Alphonse always remembered what had happened next – how he had leapt to his feet, rushed over to the body, and given up his own life for his brother. He saw again the Gate, saw his brother there, saw his brother give himself up in the same way. Though the ending to their story was happy, these nightmares continued to plague Alphonse, even years after the real events. They never failed to make him pensive and withdrawn.

"Al?" Edward asked one day as they sat across from each other in a train. "What's on your mind?"

Alphonse looked up in surprise. "Huh?"

"You keep spacing out. What's up?"

Alphonse had had another one of those dreams the night before, and as usual had started thinking more than was perhaps healthy. "Brother," he murmured softly, "what would you do if I died?"

Edward just looked at him in surprise at first, then he lowered his gaze to his hands, clenched on his knees. He had been silent for almost a whole minute when finally he spoke. "I guess," he mumbled slowly, "I guess I'd just be so lonely without you that I'd want to bring you back. I've done it before, you know. I'd perform human transmutation on you, make you into a homunculus, and get myself in a bigger mess than I was before." He looked out the window, resting his chin in his hand. "You know me, Al. I've always been an arrogant idiot."

Alphonse said nothing, buried in his own thoughts. He knew his brother was being honest about himself, for once; he knew that Edward would do just that if his little brother died. It made him hope, more than anything, that he wouldn't die before his brother.

After several minutes of silence, Edward hesitantly spoke up. "Um...Al? What would _you_ do? If I died, I mean?"

Alphonse looked up at his older brother, and he didn't even have to think about it. He didn't need to hesitate, or think this question through; he already knew the answer. "I would die, because my heart would break."

Edward sat there, staring at Alphonse's still, solemn face, for several long moments. Then he abruptly moved over to sit right next to his little brother. He didn't look at Alphonse; he simply reached over and grasped his brother's hand. Alphonse was watching the scenery pass by outside the window, but he squeezed his older brother's hand with all his strength.


	7. Crime and Punishment

**Author's Note: I've noticed that most people use this theme to have the characters get put in prison, or something to that effect. So I wanted to do something different from that, something more in tune to what **_**Crime and Punishment**_** is really all about. Some things might not make sense to a reader who hasn't read the book before, but suffice it to say that I've quoted the text a couple times.**

**Timeline: Just after Ed's automail installation**

**Theme 7: Crime and Punishment**

Edward Elric had never been particularly fond of novels. It was a waste of time, he said, to read about people fussing over their troubles when they didn't even exist. And even when the novel was potentially exciting, he said, it was always ruined by some gushy romance. Needless to say, he preferred his alchemy books.

He never really read much literature growing up; he only did it when he was forced to for school. But after the failed human transmutation, all that changed.

After the automail installation, Edward was in so much pain that he could only get out of bed for about an hour at a time. Being bedridden for so long sent him reeling into boredom. Finally, he asked for a book on alchemy technique that he had been reading before this whole thing began. The book was brought to him, and the other three in the house left him alone to go fix lunch.

Barely five minutes later, they all were brought up short by a piercing cry. Alphonse was the first to leap into action. "Brother!" He raced into the front bedroom. Edward lay flat on his back in the bed, the alchemy book open on his lap, eyes wide, limbs shaking.

"No..." he quavered, staring at nothing. "No...Mom...Mom...."

The book was open to a page with a simple diagram of a transmutation circle, nothing sinister in and of itself. But Alphonse instantly understood how that simple circle could remind him of the terrible transmutation of the week before.

Winry, it seemed, understood this as well; she snatched the book away with a click of her tongue. "Honestly!" she said, pulling a book off a nearby shelf at random and slamming it down on the bedside table. "Just read something else, Ed!"

It took about an hour of Edward's whimpering tears and Alphonse's soothing murmurs before Edward would calm down. After that, he fell into a weary doze that lasted most of the day. Alphonse sighed and put the alchemy book away, hoping that his brother would get over this quickly. After all, alchemy had been his heart and soul for almost his entire life.

The next morning, after breakfast was well over, Edward grew dreadfully bored once more. He glanced over at his bedside table, and noticed the book that Winry had put there the day before – _Crime and Punishment_ by Fyodor Dostoyevsky.

_A novel,_ Edward thought in disgust, but there was really nothing much else to do, so he picked it up and began to read. To his surprise, he found himself drawn in almost against his will, curious as to what made this young man so tense and preoccupied. The opening words seemed to catch his attention, for some reason: _At the beginning of July, during a spell of exceptionally hot weather, towards evening, a certain young man came down on to the street from the little room he rented...._ He had just read with horror how this young Raskolnikov killed a helpless old woman just to prove a point, when Alphonse brought in his dinner. Edward reluctantly put the book down for the night.

Edward never read very much at a time, often setting the book down after a page or two to let his mind wander, or to fall into a light doze, but what he read astonished him. Every word, it seemed, was talking about himself. He, too, lay in a feverish state, hallucinating and feeling guilty over what he'd done. Hadn't he as good as murdered his helpless little brother? Wasn't he desperately trying to run from justice? And so he, too, was going mad from the attempts of all around him to assure him that he was innocent. He wished he could be sent to a far-off, brutal prison as well, that he could pay out his debt to his brother with his own blood, sweat, and tears. But he was not Rodion Raskolnikov, and he could not.

When he had reached a certain point somewhere around the middle of the book, his hands began to tremble till he could hardly read the words on the page. _Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died._ Edward somehow managed to finish the chapter, but when he put it down he pulled the covers tightly around himself and lay there, shivering, for a long time. The words he had read seemed to swim before his eyes. _Died...died...my brother...died...._

The day after Edward finished _Crime and Punishment,_ he handed it to his brother. "Here, Al," he said. "Read this. I think you'll like it."

Alphonse read it all that night, since he could no longer sleep, and he was finished by the time Edward woke. It was early in the morning, before anyone else was awake. "Brother..." Alphonse said softly when he saw that Edward was fully awake. "I...I read the book."

"Yeah? What'd you think?"

"Brother.... You're all I've got now. Let's be off.... I've come to you. We're cursed together, so let's take the road together!"

Edward drew in his breath, hesitated, then asked softly, "Where to?"

Alphonse's metal helmet allowed no expression, and Edward had no way of knowing what his little brother was thinking. "How should I know? All I know is that it must be the same road – towards the same goal! None of them would understand if you were to tell them. But I've understood. You're necessary to me, and that's why I've come to you."

Edward swallowed painfully. "I don't understand...."

"You'll understand later on. You've done the same thing, after all, haven't you? You've also stepped across...found it in yourself to step across. You've committed moral suicide, you've wrecked a life..._your own._"

"Why are you saying this?" Edward's lips were trembling so much he could barely force the words out.

"Why? Because you can't go on like this – that's why! You must finally confront things seriously and directly, and not weep and wail like a child about God not letting it happen."

These words stabbed Edward in his gut, like a kick in the stomach. "But what then – what's to be done?"

Alphonse's voice became soft, and ever softer as he continued to speak. "What's to be done? To break what has to be broken, once and for always, that's all: and to take the suffering upon oneself!" He stopped abruptly, almost as if his voice had broken.

Edward looked at his little brother more closely, for suddenly the suit of armor began to make sniffing, sobbing sounds. Almost as if...Alphonse was crying. Edward didn't really know what to say, so he merely held his left hand out. Alphonse took it and held it tightly, and the two brothers remained that way for a long time. Later that day, Edward asked for his alchemy book and calmly continued reading.


	8. Store Lined Streets

**Author's Note: It took me ages to come up with something for this theme. I'm reasonably happy with it now, I guess. It's meant to be a Christmas fic, or if you insist they don't have Christmas in Amestris, this can be a sort of anniversary of Al getting his body back.**

**Timeline: Postseries**

**Theme 8: Store-lined Streets**

Edward and Alphonse Elric crunched side-by-side through the newly-fallen snow. They had woken up that morning to find the entire world covered in a soft, white blanket, and had spent most of the morning playing in the snow like children. It snowed so little in Central that they had almost begun to think it never would. Now the two brothers walked along the packed snow of the sidewalk, just two of many heavily-bundled shoppers that thronged about the streets. Everyone seemed to be laughing and chattering; not even the bitterly cold air could dampen anyone's spirits when Central was so beautiful.

"Brother?" Alphonse suddenly spoke up. He was looking at the long shopping list they had made the day before. "There's so much on this list; maybe we should split up and each get half."

"Good idea!" Edward replied, taking the half of the list that his little brother tore off for him. "It's too cold to stand around waiting for each other," he added. "When you're done, just go back home, okay?"

"Okay!" Raising a hand in farewell, Alphonse hurried across the street and ducked into one of the shops there.

Edward hesitated a moment to be sure he was gone, then hurried along at a much faster pace. He had been planning on making some sort of excuse for them to split up, but hadn't expected Alphonse to be the one to suggest it. _So much the better,_ he thought, hiding his grin in his scarf. _I can't wait to see the look on his face!_

Glancing over his shopping list, Edward decided to get the groceries first. He knew he should have gone to get Alphonse's gift much sooner, but this had really been the first opportunity. It wasn't easy to get away from his little brother, not a mere six months after he had regained his body.

For the first few months, Alphonse had hardly even been able to give his brother any privacy; he was always touching Edward, or holding his hand, or unconsciously fingering his golden braid. It had been a little embarrassing at times, but Edward didn't mind too much. After all, it had been five whole years since he had been able to feel Alphonse's flesh. He hadn't even realized how much he'd missed the touch of his brother's skin in place of cold, smooth metal. Alphonse still touched him a lot, sitting as close to him as possible and following him around almost everywhere he went. Edward was surprised Alphonse had suggested splitting up like this, but he knew he had to take advantage of this opportunity.

Edward hurried through his shopping, then turned down a street he had always avoided when walking with Alphonse. There were quite a few pet shops along this street, and Alphonse would want to go into each one. And then he would want to buy all the animals, and...well, it was a recipe for disaster. Alone, however, Edward was safe.

Or so he thought.

An hour later, Edward squatted in the middle of the fifth pet shop he had visited, examining several kittens gambolling about in their cage. He sighed wistfully.

"Can I help you, son?" the owner of the shop asked, stepping around his counter as his last customer left.

Edward didn't take his eyes off the kittens. "I can't get them _all,_" he moaned, pressing a hand against the glass and watching a pure white cat batting its paw at it.

"Having a hard time deciding?" the shopkeeper asked with a smile.

Edward nodded. "It's for my brother. He likes cats a lot."

"What kinds?"

Edward rolled his eyes. "_All_ kinds. He's practically a kitty magnet!"

"Hmm." The man reached into the cage and refilled the cats' food bowl. Several kittens rubbed against his hand, and he scratched them behind the ears. "Might I suggest one of the white ones?" he began to ask, but then Edward interrupted him.

"Hey, what's wrong with that one?" He pointed to the smallest kitten, completely black except for a small white spot between its ears. It was making its way towards the food bowl, but it was very wobbly. After a moment, Edward realized that it was dragging one of its back legs behind it.

"That one? Oh, she's the runt of the litter. Nobody's bought her yet because she's crippled."

"How much?" Edward asked, straightening up and rummaging around in his pocket.

"What?" The man looked up in surprise. "But I just said-"

"I know," Edward said with a grin. "How much?"

* * *

By a quarter to six, Alphonse was starting to get desperate. Why had he let this wait for so long? Why couldn't he have found some sort of excuse to go out shopping, and bought his older brother a present before it was this urgent? But as he trudged down the street, arms filled with brown paper bags of groceries, he knew why he hadn't bought the gift yet. He had no idea what to get Edward.

One might have thought that a younger brother who was so close to Edward would know what to get him for a gift, but that was not the case. Clothes were boring, and he didn't need any. There were always books, of course, but Edward often said that it wasn't worth it to buy books and cart them all across Amestris, when there was the First Branch of Central Library. And Edward had already read most of the alchemy books in their search for the Philosopher's Stone anyway. He didn't like novels or biographies...

Alphonse sighed. There just wasn't anything he could buy that would work. Winry was easier to shop for – perfume and power tools, those were the things she liked. But he couldn't just get something ordinary for his brother. Even the most expensive alchemy text couldn't say what Alphonse wanted it to say.

_Brother brought me back,_ Alphonse thought as he passed by shop after shop after shop. _He brought me back at the risk of his life. Because of what he's done, now I can feel and taste and sleep. Because of him, I am whole. But how could I ever tell him that? What could I do, what could I give him to show him how much he means to me?_

His mind was a blank. There was nothing, nothing in the whole wide world, that could be even half the worth of what Edward had already given him. There was nothing he could give. Nothing to fulfill Equivalent Trade. Alphonse slowly came to a stop and sat down on the curb, not caring that the cold snow was seeping through the seat of his pants. He let his purchases drop onto the ground and rested his forehead against his knees. "Aren't I a horrible little brother?" he whispered to himself.

* * *

Alphonse wasn't home by the time Edward finally pushed the door open, his arms filled with groceries and the cat. He pulled out the cat bed he had bought long ago and hidden from sight, and set the wobbly little kitten down in it. She wobbled her way around the large basket, sniffing curiously at her new surroundings. Edward couldn't help smiling and running a finger along the kitten's soft back. Maybe Alphonse was right about these little furballs.

Making sure the cat was out of sight, Edward began to prepare the chicken while he waited for his brother to return. He became wrapped up in his own thoughts while he cooked the meal and set out a saucer of milk for the kitten, and he didn't realize how late it was getting until the clock chimed seven. Edward straightened up from turning off the oven and frowned. "Al should've been back a long time ago," he muttered to himself

Edward scooped up the kitten and placed it in the box he had prepared, closing the lid and tucking it out of sight. He made sure all of the dishes were covered, then hurried to put on his coat and head outside.

Perhaps he was just being paranoid, but a thousand different worries plagued Edward's mind. What if Alphonse had gotten lost? What if he had slipped on a patch of ice and broken his back? Was he lying in a cold alley somewhere, lip bleeding and money stolen? Had he been in some kind of accident? Was he even now in a hospital, with no way of letting his brother know? A hundred different things could have happened to him. He couldn't protect himself very well, not when he had only been back inside his body for six months!

Hurriedly retracing his steps back to the shops, Edward had to admit that Alphonse could be anywhere. After they had parted ways, Alphonse could have gone down any of these streets. Edward asked everyone he passed if they had seen him. "He's about my age, a little taller, long ponytail, red coat..." But no one had seen him.

Edward rushed along the store-lined streets, quickening his pace as the minutes dragged by and worry began to eat him from the inside out. "Come on, Al, where are you?" he muttered to the air, his breath puffing out in a visible cloud.

As if on cue, Edward skidded on a patch of ice around a corner and saw the familiar form he had been searching for all this time. "Al!" he cried, but his little brother didn't look up. Edward hurried up to him and crouched down to look at his face.

Alphonse was hugging his knees to himself, eyes closed. The skin of his face was blue with cold, and he was shivering all over – no wonder, for he was sitting in a heap of snow. Though Edward called his name several times, he didn't look up for a long time. Finally, when Edward was starting to get desperate, Alphonse opened his eyes and lifted his head ever so slightly. "I can't feel," he whispered slowly. "I'm...sorry."

"Idiot," Edward muttered fiercely. "Of course you're going to go numb if you sit out in the cold so long. Come on, we've got to get back inside." He pulled off his left glove and pressed the palm against Alphonse's cheek, concerned when he felt how cold it was.

At his touch, Alphonse started and straightened up slightly. "You're so warm," he murmured, reaching up a hand to touch Edward's.

Edward helped his little brother stand and put an arm around him. "Come on, Abominable Snowman. Let's go home."

Alphonse stumbled all the way home, but after sitting for a while in their warm apartment and clutching a mug of steaming hot chocolate, he was back to normal. Edward could tell from his almost shy attitude he didn't want to talk about why he had been sitting there in the snow like that, so he let it be. After a hearty (if quiet) supper, Edward grinned and said, "Wait right there!"

He rushed into the kitchen and peeked into the box where he had put the kitten earlier. It had been curled into a soft little ball, but when he pulled the lid off it yawned and uncurled itself, stretching luxuriously. Edward smiled, put the lid back on, and carried it carefully out to the living room.

Alphonse looked rather embarrassed when Edward came through the door with an enormous wrapped box in his arms. Edward proudly set the box on Alphonse's lap and sat down beside him. "Go on, open it!" he said eagerly when Alphonse hesitated.

Taking a deep breath, Alphonse lifted the lid and looked inside the box. The moment he did, his entire face was transformed. For a moment, he could only stare inside. Then a loud meow issued from the box, and Alphonse gently lifted the kitten out of the box. Edward set the box on the floor as Alphonse stared at the furry black ball in his hands, his mouth open and his eyes shining.

Edward beamed as he watched Alphonse rub the kitten's fur against his cheek, his whole face glowing with pleasure to actually be able to feel the warm, soft, purring mass. Edward knew in that moment that it would have been worth it to buy this kitten even if it had cost a hundred thousand cenz. The look of pure joy on Alphonse's face was priceless. Edward watched fondly as Alphonse began talking to the kitten.

"Hey, there, kitty," he said softly, looking into the small animal's large dark eyes. "My name's Al. What should I call you? Oh, look! You poor thing – your leg's all messed up!"

"They said this one was a runt," Edward explained. "She's crippled in that leg."

Alphonse's face softened even further, if that was possible. "Oh, you poor thing!" he said again. "Don't worry, kitty, I'll take good care of you."

Edward reached out to rub the kitten's head, and it purred loudly. "I knew you'd like it."

"Thank you, Brother! Thank you so much! But..." His face fell. "I...I didn't get you anything. I couldn't think of anything to get you. Sorry."

Edward smiled. "This wouldn't have anything to do with you sitting out in the cold for a couple hours, would it?" Before Alphonse could answer, Edward pulled the bow off the lid of the gift box. He placed it on top of Alphonse's head, then put on an expression of mock surprise. "What? A present for me? Oh, you shouldn't have!" Pulling the bow off again, he continued, "Well, what do you know? My little brother!" He pulled Alphonse into as tight of a hug as he could without crushing the kitten between them. "Just what I always wanted," he said. "My brother back in his real body. Thank you, Al. I'll always treasure this gift."

"You're so silly, Brother," Alphonse mumbled, muffling his face in Edward's shirt as he returned the hug.

When they pulled apart, Alphonse said, "Wobbles."

"Huh?"

"That's what I'm going to call my cat. Wobbles."

Edward stared at him for a moment, then snorted with laughter. "_You're_ the silly one, Al!"


	9. Unknown Past Before We Knew Each Other

**Author's Note: I thought I'd freshen things up a bit by writing this one in first person. The theme was just perfect for this kind of thing.**

**Timeline: None**

**Theme 9: Unknown past/Before we knew each other**

I can't remember a time when I didn't know you. I mean, I suppose there was – a whole year of it – but I don't remember any of that. I don't even remember the first time we met. We have a photo of it: Me, a chubby little toddler, staring at you, hardly more than a bundle of pinkness in Mom's arms. In that picture, you're looking at me too, your eyes wide and your tiny mouth open a bit.

Mom always said that was her favorite baby picture of us.

Mom kept albums of both of our baby pictures, from the day we were born till we were about two. Occasionally we'd get them out, remember? We'd flip through the pictures, marveling at how small and fat we'd once been. (What? Of course I was small as a baby; everyone is!) And it almost doesn't matter which album you look in; we're both in each other's a lot, because we've always been together.

We've always been together. I like the way that sounds.

Maybe that's why you've always been so special to me. I just can't imagine a life without a little brother. Just think about it! I'd have no one to tell all the secrets I hide from the world. I'd have no one to keep me company through the long nights, as I sit researching, or when I wake up from a nightmare to find you always there to comfort me. No one else would put up with me 24/7 the way you do. No one else would support me wholeheartedly like you do, with no reserves or suspicions, with nothing but trust and understanding. Who else would come with me on all these wild goose chases when it wasn't absolutely necessary? Who else would love and protect me when he doubted his very own existence? No one, that's who. No one but you.

That's why it doesn't make sense for me to search into my unknown past for a time when I didn't know you. You are as essential to my existence as food and sleep.

* * *

There was never a time when I didn't know you. Even back before I remember, way back to the night I was born, you were there. I mean, that's kind of obvious, since you're a year older than me, but it still means a lot.

In my long nocturnal musings, I've come to realize something I'd never thought of before. I am – my whole body, mind, and soul – shaped by you. You have been a constant in my life, even more so than our parents, so it's only natural that such a thing would be.

When you'd laugh at me for something I did or said, I'd stop doing it. When I saw you enjoying a new game or activity, I followed in your footsteps because I wanted to feel that too. When you liked something I did (even though you didn't let on, I could tell), I continued doing it. Sometimes, when I realized I didn't like something you did or some way you acted, I'd rebel against my role model and do the opposite. I think that's true of many younger siblings. But whether I followed your example or struck out on my own, your influence on me has always been prevalent. Half of me, if not more, is you.

Maybe that's why you've always been so special to me. I just can't imagine a life without an older brother. It's mind-boggling, almost too hard to comprehend! I'd have no one to give me ideas, to show me the way. I'd have no one to comfort me when I need it most. No one else would give up arm, leg, and normal childhood just so I could be whole once more. No one else would reassure me, time and time again, that I am indeed human, without growing impatient. Who else would repair me every time I get broken? Who else could ever make me smile when I have not even the lips to do it? No one, that's who. No one but you.

That's why it's useless to ask about the time before we knew each other. You have always been with me, in me, and you always will.


	10. Promise

**Author's Note: Sorry for not posting on time! I was without internet for a couple of weeks. This one dragged out much longer than I'd planned, but in the end it turned out satisfactory. This is another one that fits into the Nina-Trisha canon, and is an attempt to fill in what happened before "Grave."**

**Timeline: After transmutation, then after "Grave"**

**Theme 10: Promise**

Brothers need not make many promises to one another. More often than not, it is merely understood that they will do what they said, if possible. And if, for some reason, they are delayed or prevented from carrying out their word, the other will understand that this is not an intentional slight to them.

But sometimes, when things are truly desperate, a brother will make a promise.

"I promise," Edward said in a harsh whisper in the night, as he breathed heavily in his pain and fever, and watched his little brother realize that he was unable to sleep. "I promise, Al. I promise."

Alphonse looked up, wishing he could frown. "Promise what?"

Edward gritted his teeth against a fresh wave of pain and whispered, "I'll get you back to normal someday, Al. I _promise._"

And Alphonse stared at his big brother in awe, unable to speak in the face of the gritty love and harsh determination in Edward's voice.

Several times throughout their journey, Edward renewed his promise, as if Alphonse would forget when it was _his_ humanity on the line.

Alphonse made a promise too, though it sounded immeasurably feeble to him in comparison. "I promise," he said softly, his voice echoing eerily around his helmet.

Edward looked up from splashing pondwater onto his sweaty face. He had an odd expression on his face, and it was obvious he recognized the irony when he slowly asked, "Promise what?"

Alphonse sat watching him, not winded at all from their sparring. "I promise that I'll go with you everywhere, and I'll never ever leave you. I promise, Brother."

And Edward stared at his little brother with tears in his eyes, unable to speak in the face of such gentle love and quiet determination.

Every time Edward renewed his promise, Alphonse reminded him of _his,_ so that Edward would never forget about his own happiness in the pursuit of another's.

With two such determined brothers, it was almost inevitable that they would keep their promises. Alphonse regained his body, Edward was never alone, and they knew they would never need to make another promise to each other.

Or...that was what they thought.

* * *

"...and if you see a cat in the rain, at least give it some shelter until the storm's over, okay?"

Edward chuckled, though his heart wasn't in it. "Okay."

"And give those letters to the Mustangs, and Winry, and Nina, and Trisha-"

"Yes, yes, I know," Edward said. "You've already told me three times."

"Oh, yeah." Alphonse smiled weakly from his bed. He hesitated, then said softly, "Brother...there's one more thing."

"Yes?" Edward drew closer to the deathbed, grasping his little brother's old, withered hand.

"I want you to promise me something. Promise me...that when I die...you won't kill yourself."

"Wh-What?" Edward asked in shock.

But Alphonse was serious. "Promise, Brother. Please."

Edward looked into Alphonse's milky grey eyes and said solemnly, "I promise."

Alphonse let out a weary sigh and lay back against his pillows, closing his eyes. "Good. You need to stay alive. They all need you. Winry...the girls...their families.... Amestris."

Edward didn't realize how hard it would be to keep his promise. He didn't realize how much one heart could ache. When he had made the promise, he hadn't expected to fall to pieces in public as the coffin was lowered into the ground. He hadn't expected to cry so hard during the memorial service that he couldn't speak and had to give his notes to Maes instead. Perhaps he wouldn't have made the promise if he had known how empty life would be without his little brother. But he had made it, so he had to live on. Even if it meant Winry had to hold him night after night as he called for his brother to come and chase the nightmares away. Even if it meant he passed his days in the rocking chair, staring out the window and only vaguely being aware of his children and grandchildren speaking to him. He had promised his brother, so he continued to live. But on the inside, he was already dead.

* * *

One day, after nearly six months of this, Edward was slowly rocking in his chair by the window, staring blankly at the glass. The room was empty; everyone else was over in the other house, as they usually were during the day.

Gradually, Edward's eyes lit up, registering a face reflected in the glass. It almost looked like him, but he couldn't have two reflections, and there were differences in this face. Hardly daring to believe it was true, Edward looked over his shoulder.

"Hello, Brother," Alphonse said.

Edward tried to say, "Hi," but his mouth was dry and he couldn't seem to part his lips.

Alphonse crossed the room and perched on the windowsill. He looked younger than when he had died. Stronger. He still had the white hair, the wrinkles, but every feature seemed softer somehow.

Finally, Edward managed to croak out, "H-How?"

Alphonse smiled. "Oh, don't worry. I'm quite dead. No one tried to make a Homunculus out of me or anything like that. You've learned _that,_ at any rate."

"You mean you're a-"

"A ghost? Oh, probably." Alphonse smiled serenely, as if his very presence didn't clash with everything Edward knew about the world, as if he wasn't tearing Edward apart. "I'm not even sure how I'm here myself," he admitted. "All I know is why I'm here."

There was something different about him now, Edward realized. He seemed...wiser. Calmer, if that was possible. Death had changed him, but only for the better. Edward's mind began to wander as he wondered if such a change would come upon him when he died....

"Now, we'll have none of that, if you please," Alphonse chided gently, as if Edward had spoken his thoughts out loud. "That's what I came here to talk to you about. You remember that promise you made me right before I died?"

"Yeah," Edward said dully. "I promised that I would keep on living. Well, I have. Happy?"

"No," Alphonse said, still calm. "You call what you've been doing living? Pardon the expert in me, but that's called _continuing to exist._ There's a difference, you know. Sure, your body keeps living thanks to Winry and the others, but your soul isn't in anything you do. You've broken your promise, Brother."

Edward gasped as though Alphonse had struck him. "No!" he said in a choked voice. "Al – you don't understand! You don't know what it's like to...to not...have you in my life anymore-" His voice broke and he couldn't continue.

"Don't I?" Alphonse asked softly.

Edward looked up again and realized that Alphonse had tears in his eyes.

"I miss being able to talk with you, Brother," Alphonse whispered, the tears building up and starting to roll down his cheeks. "But that's nothing compared to the pain you're causing the others. Don't shut them out. Promise me that, Brother, and don't break this promise."

"I promise," Edward said in a whisper, and as soon as he did Alphonse began to fade away. Edward reached out to stop him, but Alphonse only touched his brother's fingers and disappeared completely.

Just then, Winry entered the room carrying a tray with a glass of water and a bowl of steaming broth. "Okay, Ed," she said in a falsely cheery voice Edward didn't recognize. "Time for lunch!" Then she stopped short, suddenly realizing that Edward was looking right at her. "Ed...are you...?"

When Edward clutched the arms of his chair and pushed himself to his feet, the tray slipped from her fingers and crashed onto the floor. Edward got onto his knees a little stiffly, then clapped his hands and repaired the tray and dishes. He set them onto a nearby table and stood up with a small grunt of pain as his back protested. Then he looked back at Winry and said, "Thanks, Win."

Winry had both hands pressed to her mouth, but she took them away and said, "Oh, Ed!"

Edward caught her as she threw her arms about him, and planted a hearty kiss on her lips. He wondered how he could have ever given this up. And as she sobbed his name over and over, as he murmured his love into her ear, he could have sworn he heard Alphonse laughing out of pure joy.


	11. Liar

**Author's Note: It took me eons to decide what to write for this prompt. But finally, I thought of this little concept. One of my favorite sections of the anime is the part where Al doesn't believe he's human. I find that very compelling. Still, I didn't feel like either the anime or the manga dealt with it sufficiently. The manga resolved it much too quickly (it struck at the core of the brothers' relationship, yet it was resolved in one short conversation barely five minutes after Al spills the beans!), but I've always felt that the anime (while drawing it out to a good length) went off on an unnecessary tangent. So this is sort of straddling both versions, I guess – leaning much more obviously towards the anime version, but retaining the same feel (for me, at least) as the corresponding scene in the manga.**

**Timeline: Episode 23/Chapter 15/Episode 9  
**

**Theme: Liar**

Edward Elric and Winry Rockbell slowly ascended the stairs that led up onto the hospital roof. Their slow speed was due in part to Edward's wounds, which were still liable to open if he exerted himself too much, and to the large bundle of scrap metal they carried between them. Edward could have easily carried it himself, but Winry had insisted on helping him. Finally they emerged onto the large, flat roof of the hospital.

Edward blinked in the sudden sunlight, and cast his gaze around for Alphonse. He spotted his little brother sitting in the corner, and made his way over. Alphonse had been strangely quiet ever since their little adventure in the 5th Laboratory, but Edward thought he knew why. It had been right there, just within their reach. The Philosopher's Stone. And he had thrown all that away, thrown away the chance to return Alphonse to his real body, just because of a bunch of prisoners he had never and would never know. He had had no reason to show them mercy, but...he had.

When he had confided in Winry, she had suggested that Alphonse was angry because he had considered being so heartless. But as Edward stood before his little brother and looked into those glowing red eyes, he was certain Alphonse was angry with him for not taking the chance to restore his body. And why not? Edward was sure he would have been angry, were their positions switched. He wanted to make things right somehow, but the proper words would not come. After struggling to find words that were not there – all the time hiding it behind a sad smile – Edward said, "I'm sorry. I'll fix you up right away."

He quickly knelt down to sort through the jumble of mismatched bits of metal that Winry had brought from Risenpool, still trying to come up with the right thing to say to reassure Alphonse. He had to make his little brother see that just because he had faltered once didn't mean he had lost his resolve. "Al, I won't give up," he said. "Let's return to our normal bodies our own way…no matter what."

"You may be able to return to normal, Brother…" Alphonse said softly. "But will I?"

Edward looked up in surprise and grinned reassuringly. "Of course! Don't worry about it." He swiftly stood over the pile of metal he had selected, clapped his hands, and transmuted the scrap metal, fusing it into the gaping holes in Alphonse's mangled armor. He knew the armor well enough by now that he could recreate it from memory, and he watched in satisfaction as Alphonse's legs and arms materialized seemingly out of thin air, as good as new. When the blue flash of the transmutation had faded away, Edward looked him up and down. "How is it?"

"You affixed my soul to the armor like this four years ago, didn't you?" Alphonse asked in a strange voice, staring down at the huge gauntlets that were his hands. "Along with my memories… Memories are only data. An alchemist like you can easily create memories, right Brother?"

Edward frowned, gazing up at his little brother in concern and confusion. "You...were thinking about such a thing?"

"Brother, there was something you started to ask me in Risenpool, but you didn't." Alphonse slowly looked up, and Edward couldn't help but feel that those glowing red eyes were accusing him. "You said there was something you were afraid to ask. Were you trying to tell me that my soul and memories were something fake that you created?"

Edward gasped, taking an involuntary step backward. He stared, open-mouthed, at Alphonse, barely hearing when Winry started to explain and Alphonse interrupted her. This accusation was like a slap to the face. _He thinks I created him,_ Edward thought numbly. _He thinks I've been lying to him for four years._

"What do you expect me to believe?" Alphonse asked in a tormented, echoing voice. "What do you expect me to believe with this empty body of mine? There's a possibility that all of you are tricking me!"

Edward slowly bowed his head, lips twisting at the sudden bitter taste in his mouth. "Is that what you've wanted to say all this time?" he asked dully. "Is that all you have to say?" _He thinks I'm tricking him,_ he thought over and over again, hardly understanding Alphonse's demands for answers. _He thinks I've lied to him all along._ His own little brother thought he was some sick, twisted alchemist with the crazy desire to try and see if he could create life, like Shou Tucker.

Suddenly, Edward realized that Alphonse had turned as if to leave. He reached out and grabbed Alphonse's wrist, silently begging him to understand. Why would no words come to his lips? Why was his mind, so often lauded as the mind of a genius, frozen solid? Why could he think of nothing to say that would assure his little brother he was real?

"Let go," Alphonse said coldly, wrenching himself away. "There's no point in me living anyway."

Sudden, overwhelming panic seared through Edward's entire body, and he latched himself onto Alphonse's arm. "Idiot!" he shrieked. _Don't go, don't die,_ he silently begged over and over. _You're all I have left! Don't hurt yourself! Don't leave me all alone!_ He tried to say these things out loud, but it took too much effort just to hold onto Alphonse's metal arm as the suit of armor struggled to get free. All Edward could do was cry out his little brother's name again and again.

Edward was nearly frantic with fear by the time Alphonse finally broke free. "Get away from me!" Alphonse yelled, swinging his arm with greater force than he had intended and landing a blow on Edward's jaw.

Edward went sprawling, and as he cautiously picked himself up again, he could taste blood in his mouth. He stared up at the hulking suit of armor, feeling almost betrayed that gentle Alphonse had actually struck him. He barely noticed that Winry had rushed to his side. "Al..." Edward murmured, numbly wiping blood away from his lip. "You know that I would still care for you even if that was true, don't you?" Somehow, this seemed to be more important than anything else.

Alphonse hesitated a moment, then took a step backward. "Liar!" he cried, his voice as harsh as the crack of a whip. "I don't believe anything you say! You created me, and then you lied to me for four years! I hate you!" With that, he turned on his heel and ran the length of the hospital roof, then vaulted over the railing at the edge and fell to the ground far below, where he got to his feet and began to run again. Soon his heavy, clanking footfalls faded away.

Edward was oblivious to Winry's worried cries, unaware that he had grown completely limp and had collapsed in her arms. He could see nothing but Alphonse's eyes, glowing with anger. He could hear nothing but that voice he knew so well, echoing around the empty helmet as it said, _I hate you._ Edward let out a despairing wail and covered his face with both hands. The world turned dark around him.

**To be continued...**


	12. Proof

**Author's Note: Sorry, this got put up a little late! ^^' Originally, this one was going to go in the last chapter. But when I saw what the next theme was, I realized that this fit very well, and I would probably be hard-pressed to come up with something else for such a theme. So, this is the continuation of last chapter. It still sort of has the residue of the "liar" theme, but the focus is different this time. And if I remember correctly, this was the theme that first made me think I could even write this fic in the first place.  
**

**Timeline: Episode 23/Chapter 15/Episode 9  
**

**Theme: Proof**

Edward lay in a dark stupor for the rest of that day, and most of the following day as well. He gave no response when spoken to, merely lying in his bed and staring blankly up at the ceiling. He kept replaying the scene in his head, kept thinking of all the things he should have said, but every time he did he could not escape the simple truth: Alphonse hated him.

It had been his worst fear ever since that horrible night when he had doomed both of their lives for good. He had been sure in the months following the transmutation that Alphonse must hate him. Wouldn't he, if he had been forced against his will into a miserable half-existence? But when he had confided his worries to Winry, she had assured him Alphonse didn't hate him. He had almost believed her; he had _wanted_ to believe her most desperately. And he had been too afraid to ask Alphonse and find out the truth. He had been too afraid that his worst fears would be realized, with Alphonse saying that he hated him. And now...it had happened. Alphonse hated him. And that was it.

He couldn't sleep. He refused to eat. He wouldn't talk to anyone. He discovered that he couldn't even shed a tear. All he seemed able to do was stare up at the ceiling and wonder, in a vague, detached sort of way, what on earth he was going to do now. He didn't care so much about his own limbs; he had only agreed to get them back to keep Alphonse happy. All this time, his only goal had been to recover Alphonse's body. But Alphonse hated him. He had run away. He wouldn't want Edward to give him a body now. So what was Edward to do?

Edward didn't pay attention when the door to his hospital room opened and closed. It took several moments for him to register the clankings and creakings of an entirely metal body, and to realize what they meant. When it clicked, he shot straight up in bed – and clutched his chest with a wince, having momentarily forgotten about his wound. He stared at Alphonse, who stood next to his bed, his face unreadable as always.

"Brother..." Alphonse said softly, in a very different voice from the conversation on the rooftop. "Please don't lie. I need to know. Did you...?"

"No," Edward said firmly, if a little huskily. "Why would I want to create a fake little brother? Why would I sacrifice my arm for anything less than a real one? I don't even know how to _begin_ to create someone as complex as you." He paused and looked down at his hands curled around the stiff sheets. "I guess I can't prove to you that you're real. I just...hope you'll believe me...even with that body of yours."

There was a long silence in which Edward was too afraid to look up, then Alphonse broke it by saying in that same soft voice, "I...I believe you." Edward looked up in disbelieving hope, but Alphonse wasn't finished. "I...did a lot of thinking. And I realized...you aren't the liar, Brother. I am."

Edward blinked in surprise at this. It was the last thing he had expected Alphonse to say. When he finally found his voice again, he croaked out, "What do you mean?"

Though the giant suit of armor loomed over Edward in his hospital bed, Alphonse seemed to shrink into himself as he whispered, "I...I lied up there on the roof yesterday. I don't hate you, Brother."

It seemed as Edward looked up at Alphonse that the suit of armor shrank down to the size of the little brother he remembered. He could see the golden-haired boy standing with downcast eyes and hunched shoulders, mumbling an apology. Edward blinked, and there was the hulking suit of armor again. He tried to convince himself he wasn't crying, but he could find no other excuse for the wet drops running down his cheeks.

"And you know, Brother," Alphonse said softly, clunking a step or two closer and reaching out to put a hand on Edward's shoulder, "that's all the proof I need to tell myself I'm human. If I wasn't human, would I be able to love you the way I do? I don't think so."

Edward sniffed loudly and put his hand on top of Alphonse's. "I don't think so either."


	13. Betrayal

**Author's Note: Sorry for the delay in posting this; I was out of town. To compensate, I'll put the next chapter up next week instead of waiting two weeks as usual. This short little thing took me **_**forever**_** to come up with. I mean, come on. When has Ed or Al ever betrayed the other? This was the best thing I could come up with, at any rate.**

**Timeline: None**

**Theme 13: Betrayal**

My brother doesn't like to show his feelings. He likes to cover them up with appearances that are much easier to explain away. When he's feeling overwhelmed by all the attention he receives as a State Alchemist, he pretends to enjoy it and basks in his own glory. When he begins to lose hope of achieving his goal, he takes it out on Mustang or other military officers.

But my brother can never fool me. I can always tell what he's feeling inside. I can tell when his laughter is fake, and when it's genuine. I can tell when, really, he just wants to go home and shut out the rest of the world.

There are some things my brother tries to hide from me. Some are relatively innocuous, such as when he hides his full glass of milk and pretends he drank it, or when he cheats at cards by hiding trump cards up his sleeve. Others, however, are serious – like the infected cut on his arm he didn't tell me about because we were hot on the trail of the Philosopher's Stone. The infection turned out to be tetanus. That scared me more than I think my brother realized, but we managed to get him a treatment before it became too serious. I made my brother swear he'd never hide something like that from me again. (Of course, that only lasted till he got appendicitis.)

One time, when we were back in Risenpool for repairs, my brother was lying down and trying to recover from the intense pain of reattaching his limbs. He was in his usual feverish half-doze on the bed, and I was quietly straightening up the clothes he had left in a heap on the floor. When I picked up his leather pants, something shiny fell out of his pocket. I reached down to pick it up, and saw that it was his silver State Alchemist's watch. It had popped open when it fell, and I froze just as I reached my hand out for it. On the inside of the watch, just opposite the face of the clock, were etched the words _Don't forget 3 Oct. 10._

I knew that date. I remembered it all too well. That was the day we burned down our house, and left Risenpool forever. Later that day, after my brother wasn't in pain anymore, I confronted him about the message. He gave me a look that pained me, almost as if he had said, _You betrayed me._ But all he said was, "Yeah, I'm pretty pathetic, aren't I? Carrying around a talisman to remind me of my resolve..."

"I don't think that's pathetic," I said. I'm not sure he believed me.

There have been several times when I have seen past my brother's many masks, seen his true thoughts and exposed them. Each time, I feel as though I'm betraying him, even if it's for his own good. But when I told Winry outright that my brother loved her, I knew (even through the death threats he glared my way) that this betrayal was the best possible thing for him.


	14. Covered Eyes

**Author's Note: Another one that took forever to come up with. The theme was quite tricky and ambiguous, at any rate. I finally thought of something after watching Tales from Earthsea and then talking about Ursula K. Le Guin's book **_**Gifts**_** afterward. In it, there's a boy who chooses to become blind by blindfolding himself. It hit me the next day that it sort of sounded like Ed. Warning: MAJOR angst ahead!**

**Timeline: After Episode 7 and/or 8**

**Theme: Covered eyes**

If I closed my eyes, what would I see?

Perhaps it would be better if I was blind. Then I wouldn't see this sick, depraved world. I wouldn't see the crimes committed by the people I thought I could trust. I wouldn't see the blood on my hands that I (indirectly, it is true) shed.

Maybe I should blindfold myself. Maybe I should have you lead me by the hand. Maybe I should turn my back and just go home. Just live with what I've done, because I deserve it. I deserve it all.

What if I told Them what I've done? What if I was court-martialed, and sentenced to a lifetime in prison? What if they gouged out my eyes and cut off my hands so I couldn't do alchemy? What if they left me to my own darkness?

I deserve the darkness. I caused it, after all. I blotted those happy little eyes out forever. I've seen way too many eyes covered with the sheen of death, but this is the last straw. I could have stopped him. I could have. But I just _had_ to lose my temper, get impatient, blow the whole thing. And now look. Look. _Look!_

I cannot cover my eyes. No, I must continue to look, continue to stare. Because that's me, Edward Elric. That's what I've become. A killer. A cold-blooded murderer.

And besides...I can't cover my eyes and curl up like a turtle hiding in its shell. Covered eyes mean no sight. No sight means no goal, and no goal.... I _do not_ want to go there!

No; I must _look._ I must look at you without blinking. Because the way you are now is my fault too, and you didn't deserve any of this. I have to keep my eyes uncovered, wide open, so I can find a way to bring you back.

Because, no matter how many mistakes I make along the way, I know that you will gently pull away the hands that cover my eyes.


	15. The Scent of Blood

**Author's Note: Finally, a theme I knew exactly what to do with! I happen to like the way blood tastes (ooh, I'm a vampire! DX), but I can't imagine that Ed would like blood very much, what with all the associations it would have. I tried exploring these with this one.**

**Timeline: Midseries  
**

**Theme 15: The scent of blood**

Edward Elric hated the scent of blood.

Blood meant memories. Memories he wished he could quell. Memories of a cold room on a stormy night in February. The mingled smells of smoke, rotting flesh, sweat, fear, vomit...but most of all, blood. Blood. Huge puddles of blood that made one marvel at just how much of that life-giving liquid one child's body could contain.

Blood meant pain. Edward still had nightmares of that night, nightmares in which he felt the pain anew. The pain of losing a leg, coupled with the desperation and fear he was feeling, was enough to cripple him, make him curl up into a ball and clutch at the center of all that pain. And he had forced himself onward, forced himself to endure even more pain as he gave up his arm as well. But the pain wouldn't leave him, not even after his wounds had been seen to and he had regained all of the blood he had lost. The pain of automail crippled him all over again, and he pushed himself so far he began coughing up blood. In those days, the metallic tang of blood always lingered in the back of his throat or on the tip of his tongue, as if he needed another reminder of all that pain.

Blood meant detours. Whenever Edward fought one of his many enemies, it seemed, he came away riddled with injuries. He could smell the blood on his clothes, feel it oozing out from cuts in his skin. And then came bandages, hospitals, and long waits. Whenever Edward woke to find himself staring up at the sterile white ceiling of yet another hospital ward, he would curse himself for being so careless. With his own overconfidence, he had thrown another stumbling block in their way, and now they would have to wait until he was discharged before their quest could continue. And besides, Edward hated the smell of antiseptic that always seemed to linger in hospital rooms, as if to cover up the scent of his own blood.

Blood meant death. In what seemed to be a never-ending cycle, Edward faced death after death after death. And hardly any of them were clean deaths of an old person dying in their sleep. No, each death was marked starkly in blood. His friends had died before his eyes, he had killed his enemies, and he had witnessed countless deaths that had occurred right before his eyes. He felt guilty in those moments, sure he could have done _something_ to help, but that never changed the simple, cold fact that they were _dead._ More often than he wished to count, Edward would dream of all those deaths, and once again he would be covered in their blood. Then he would wake, and he could never quite shake the notion that the shadows lying across his hands were actually swathes of blood. Those were the times he would leap up and turn on all the lights, much to his younger brother's surprise.

It was a simple papercut that made him say it. Probably the most mundane way to draw one's own blood: He had turned the page of his new alchemy book a little too eagerly, and with the faintest stab of pain, sliced a thin red line on his finger. Edward drew back his hand reflexively, saying "Ow!" almost on instinct. He watched as a small bead of blood blossomed on the tip of his finger, reminding him forcefully of the time he had sliced open his own finger for the 'secret ingredient' to human transmutation.

"I hate blood," he said.

Alphonse had looked up at his cry of pain, and now his glowing red eyes focused on the tiny ribbon of blood just beginning to streak down Edward's finger. He paused a moment, then said softly, "I don't."

Edward looked at his finger with more gloom than a papercut would normally warrant. "Why not?" he grumbled, glaring at the offending red substance.

"Because, when you have blood, it means you're alive."

Edward looked up at his little brother, startled. He couldn't be sure, with Alphonse's face being the visor of a helmet, but he got the impression that inwardly, Alphonse was giving him a wry, mirthless smile. For an eternal moment, Edward looked into the eyeholes of his brother's face, understanding the words Alphonse hadn't said. Then he broke their gaze and returned to looking at his finger. "Don't be stupid," he said roughly. "Blood isn't what makes you alive. It's your heart. And sometimes...your heart can keep you alive even without blood."

Alphonse sat back on his heels, looking straight into Edward's eyes. Edward couldn't help wondering what expression he was wearing inside. Finally, Alphonse softly said, "Thank you."

Edward put his cut finger into his mouth and sucked on it to stop the flow of blood. The sharp tang of blood filled his mouth, almost seeming to squeeze his tongue with invisible hands. And for the first time in his life, Edward Elric found he didn't mind the taste of blood that much.


	16. Reaching Voice

**Author's Note: I've decided to try to post a chapter every week, because I'm impatient to get through these :P For most of these themes, it seems like the answer is drifting just outside of reach. And, usually, a little bit of contemplation draws it out. I figured this one out when I was bored one Sunday evening.**

**Timeline: None**

**Theme 16: Reaching voice & Unreachable with a voice**

Brother.

That's the only word I need, softly spoken, when I want to get his attention. Even when he's yelling at the top of his lungs, and my voice is hardly more than a whisper. It's as if his ears are specially tuned to my voice.

Naturally, I'm very glad he pays so much attention to me. When he looks at me and smiles...it's like I can feel again. It's like I can feel a tiny core of warmth in this isolated life I lead. When I call him, and he turns immediately, willing to listen to whatever I have to say... I don't know. Maybe it gives me hope that my existence still has meaning. That somehow, I'm still alive. That, no matter what happens, I am above all else Edward Elric's brother, and he loves me.

All this, my brother can say with his reaching voice. The funny thing is he hardly ever uses his real voice. He tells me with his eyes, golden discs burning with emotion. He tells me with his lips, curling up into a fond smile when he sees me. He tells me with his hands, clapping together to protect me or patting me comfortingly on the head. He tells me with every action, every minute toiling towards the day I will be whole. And that leaves every day filled with his silent voice that always seems to reach me somehow, encouraging and uplifting me.

He's such a good older brother.

Not a day goes by that I don't wish I could repay him somehow. That I don't hope he knows I love him just as much as he's always loved me. Unfortunately, though I've lived with him my entire life, in fourteen years I haven't been able to figure out how he does it.

I wonder if my brother knows what I'm trying to do. I wonder if he sees something in these infernal red eyes of mine. I wonder if he can tell when I want to give him the same fond sort of smile he's given me so many times. I wonder if he knows I love him.

The frustrating part is that my brother can't stand me saying this out loud. (He is, after all, a teenager.) But my voice is all I've got! I can't smile at him. I can't squeeze his shoulder gently and let my warmth seep into him. I do my best to help him, to protect him, but my skills have always been inferior to my brother's. So all that's left is my voice – my child's voice, trapped and echoing inside this body I inhabit.

And I fear that is far too little to convey all the things I wish I could.

Will my brother always remain unreachable with a voice?


	17. Scars

**Author's Note: I've always liked Papa Roach's song "Scars," mainly for the line that goes, "Scars remind us that the past is real." The funny thing about a scar is, I think at times I might believe I'd just imagined it all unless the scar was there to scream at me that it happened. And scars are kind of cool, I think, though they're inevitable reminders of pain. I have a scar that's about two feet long, and stands as a reminder of pain that didn't completely go away for about a year. So, I think I can sympathize somewhat with Ed in this one.**

**Timeline: Mid-series**

**Theme 17: Scars**

Edward Elric's small body was riddled with scars.

There was the little white scar on his right knee, from when he had fallen onto broken glass as a child and had to get stitches. There was a large reddish one from when a fox had bitten his shoulder, but that had been on the arm he had lost.

The largest, most obvious scars were naturally the ones from his automail. Jagged, brownish lumps formed lines that snaked out from the ports, where the flesh had split so deeply from the strain of the metal that they couldn't completely heal. Edward could remember the pain of each one. He could remember how they seemed to burn like ropes of fire. He could remember the screams that tore the back of his throat, though he kept his mouth closed tightly shut. He could remember how stiff and tight his muscles had been when the skin had finally knitted back together again.

As if that wasn't enough, Edward had many scars from fighting his enemies. There was a jagged, red one from a sword slashed across his side. There was a thin white line running diagonally across his back, and several spiky marks on his back and stomach from times when he had been stabbed. On his right thigh, an oddly-shaped scar bore testament to the time a knife had become embedded in it, and his enemy had twisted and pulled on it till Edward was left in a screaming heap on the ground.

And then there was the tiny, impossibly straight line on his abdomen from when he had his appendix out. Edward hadn't said anything about the pain he was feeling at first, for he was hot on the trail of the Philosopher's Stone. Finally, Alphonse's worried inquiries and the ever-mounting pain convinced Edward to go to the doctor. They caught it just in time, but Edward had to endure a week stuck in bed with nothing to listen to but Alphonse scolding him for not saying anything sooner. Edward always tried to forget that particular experience, but he never succeeded. The scar was always there to remind him.

Most of the time, Edward gave little thought to his scars or the sheer amount he had. The only person who usually saw them was Alphonse, and he could remember what each one was from, so he never mentioned them.

But not everyone had been there with him when he had sustained them. One day, while Edward and Alphonse stayed briefly at the Rockbells', Edward stood under the outside shower in nothing but his boxers. He had just sparred with Alphonse as was his custom right after receiving new limbs. Granny Pinako didn't allow him indoors when he was so sweaty, so he always hosed off before going back inside.

On this particular occasion, Edward had just turned off the spray of cool water and turned around, slopping his long hair over one shoulder and wringing it out, when he noticed he was not alone. Winry stood at the corner of the building, staring at him with an almost dazed expression. Edward followed her line of sight and realized she was staring at the scars all across his chest.

All of a sudden, Edward felt self-conscious, and grabbed his shirt, hastily throwing it on. He felt his cheeks grow hot as he met her wide eyes, and asked – a bit more roughly than he had intended – "What?"

"Sorry," Winry hastily said. "I just...I didn't know...so many...."

"So I've seen my share of fights," Edward snapped, returning to his task of wringing out his hair. "So what?"

"They...must've hurt a lot." Deprived of the scars on his chest, Winry was now staring at the ones on his right leg.

Edward glanced down, remembering the pain of the knife. "I guess."

"Why do you let yourself get hurt so much?" Winry asked desperately. "Can't you be more careful? Why don't you look after your own safety more?"

Edward flipped his hair back over his shoulder, where it began to drip a wet streak over the scars on his back. He met Winry's gaze steadily and said, "Because I have to look after Al."


	18. I Don't Want to Realize

**Author's Note: This was a strange one. I had no real plan in mind, and I expected this to be another one that would take ages to come up with something for. But then suddenly this idea hit me, and I wrote it in a flurry. It's sort of loosely based on an experience I had, and one my friend had.**

**Timeline: Post-series**

**Theme 18: "I don't want to realize"**

_For NewMoonFlicker_

"You take good care of him!" Edward shouted as a nurse pried him away from the doctors. "You hear me? That's my little brother!"

Edward watched helplessly as Alphonse's bed disappeared through a set of double doors in a flurry of white coats.

"Mr. Elric, you'll need to fill out these forms...."

The nurse was babbling, but Edward wasn't listening. He couldn't think straight. His heart was still racing, and odd thoughts kept on whizzing through his mind such as whether it was night or day (he couldn't remember), and what had happened to that stray cat Alphonse had been feeding.

The nurse's voice seemed very far away. "Mr. Elric? Can you hear me?"

Slowly, Edward turned to face her. He opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. The nurse went on about forms, and then Edward found himself being led to a place with lots of chairs. A few people sat there, waiting. The nurse pushed him into a nearby chair and handed him the form she had been talking about, as well as a pen. Then she left him, her heels clicking all the way down the hall.

Edward stared at the pen. It was one of those new ballpoint pens, the kind that didn't need an inkwell to dip into. Then Edward looked down at the first sheet of paper. At the very top, there was a line next to the word, 'Name.' Edward found himself staring at the empty line and wondering what his name was. Then he blinked, and the spell was broken. He pulled the cap off the pen and began feverishly filling in the blanks. He forced everything out of his head but the forms, pushing his concentration to the limit as if this was a State Alchemist Exam.

Needless to say, he finished the forms in under ten minutes.

As soon as the forms were finished, Edward began staring around the room, searching desperately for something to focus his mind on. As if he had an internal genie, his wish was granted. The nurse came back just then, closely followed by a worried-looking young woman. Edward stood up immediately, and she practically flew towards him, throwing her arms around him.

"Oh, Ed!" Winry said in a harsh whisper, clutching him tightly.

Edward found he couldn't say anything; all he could do was hug her back. The nurse took the forms, and the two of them sat down. Winry clutched his hand tightly, but he didn't mind. He needed her warm presence now.

But as time dragged on, some of the shock began to wear off, and a thousand worries took its place. Every time a nurse or doctor entered the room, he snapped his head up, but they either passed on through another door or went to speak to one of the other people sitting and waiting. Edward stared down at the floor, trying to empty his mind so he wouldn't think of what could very well happen. Finally, he rose and began to pace back and forth in front of Winry, who watched him as if hypnotized.

Edward alternated between pacing and sitting with his head in his hands. At one point, Winry began to cry quietly; Edward tried to ignore her, knowing that he was dangerously close to tears himself.

One of the times he sat staring down at his toes, he thought _I know what I'm doing. I don't want to realize that he might...that I might never...._ He let out a whispered curse, one he didn't think even Winry could hear, and pressed his hands against his eyes, trying to force down the gigantic lump in his throat. His hands were cold and soothing against his hot, itchy eyelids. He acknowledged it silently to himself: He could do nothing. Nothing short of the Philosopher's Stone could heal Alphonse, in Edward's hands. But he had already used the Stone to bring Alphonse's body back, so now he could do nothing. It was all in the doctors' hands now. He had come to the end of himself.

And so, for the first time in his life, Edward Elric prayed.

It was not a desperate attempt at bargaining. It was not _Please God, if you heal my little brother I'll believe in you._ For God is not the Doors of Truth. And Edward didn't know much about God, but he knew that at least. So, he cried out with every fiber of his being: _God, please, save my little brother, because I can't. Don't let him die. Please._

Edward sat there for a while longer, almost as if he was waiting for something to happen. But there was no fanfare, no bolt of lightning from heaven. He didn't even feel any different; his stomach still churned with worry. But...even so, he felt as though at least a part of the responsibility had been taken off his shoulders.

Edward straightened up, taking a deep breath that almost seemed to cleanse him. Then he looked over and saw that Winry was still crying. Edward rummaged around in his pocket till he found his handkerchief. He handed it to Winry, who took it miserably and tried to wipe her tears away. Edward put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed gently. "Don't worry," he whispered. "It's going to be okay."

Winry looked up at him, surprised; then her lip trembled and she rested her head on his shoulder, sniffling.

Edward didn't know how long they sat like that. He was suspended in the tense worry the two of them shared. The whole world seemed to be in limbo. And suddenly, the world seemed to crash into a million pieces, as the nurse from before and a man whose name tag declared him Doctor Burton made their way over. Edward gently squeezed Winry's shoulder again, and she looked up, hastily drying her tears. Edward slowly got to his feet, heart thudding painfully in his chest. His mouth was dry, and the doctor and nurse seemed to take forever to draw near. He couldn't be sure, but he thought the expressions on their faces were grave. Edward desperately tried to steel himself, but he couldn't.

The doctor came to a stop before him. "Mr. Elric, Ms. Rockbell." He looked from one to the other, lips pressed tightly together. "He's stabilized."

Edward felt his knees give way underneath him. Winry rushed forward and caught him before he could fall down, and he clutched her shoulder again. The doctor was continuing, something about a week in the hospital and rehabilitation, but his words were an unintelligible buzz in Edward's ears. Alphonse was alive! Relief washed through him, and Edward sent up a second silent prayer: _Thank you._

Everything seemed to be a hazy dream. Edward and Winry, still holding onto each other, followed the nurse to the room where Alphonse lay on a bed. He was asleep, and his blood-stained clothes had been replaced with a white hospital gown. A monitor near his bed beeped steadily.

Edward sank into one of the chairs next to the bed and drew a long breath. Suddenly, he felt very tired, and he realized he had probably been running on adrenaline ever since the accident, which already seemed to have happened in another lifetime. He wondered again what time it was, how much time had elapsed since they had rushed here in the ambulance.

Reaching over, Edward clasped the hand that lay on top of the sheets, feeling the IV tube pressing against his palm. "Hey," he said, even though he knew Alphonse wouldn't be able to hear. "Thanks for hanging in there, little brother."


	19. Things One Cannot Understand

**Author's Note: There were several choices of plot I could have done for this theme, but in the end I chose this, these two incidents which I believe to be the moments where Ed and Al are the most at the end of themselves. And it just goes to show you how important they are to each other, with the way they comfort each other in such moments.**

**Timeline: Before series; "Rules and Reasons" era**

**Theme 19: Things one cannot understand**

Edward and Alphonse Elric sat numbly in their chairs, neither of them quite sure exactly what they were feeling, if indeed they felt anything. Trisha Elric was dead. The knowledge of this had yet to completely sink in as they stared at her lifeless body lying so peacefully in her bed. She had a faint smile on her face, and she looked so serene that they almost thought she had dropped off into a light sleep.

But the hand they both clasped slowly grew colder and stiffer, and they could not deny it any longer. Their mother was dead.

Granny Pinako, who had sat next to them for the last few hours, quietly pulled out a handkerchief and began to cry. But Edward and Alphonse's eyes were dry. They were unable to comprehend what had just happened. Edward felt as though a heavy weight was gradually dragging him downwards, and he felt cold inside, but his mind had seemed to jam in place. He couldn't _think_ enough to cry.

Finally, Granny Pinako made them go to bed. She and Winry had been staying in the Elric house for a few days now, to help Trisha. But after Edward and Alphonse mechanically put on their pajamas and got into bed, they were left with nothing to think about but their mother. She was dead. _Dead._ She was never coming back.

Neither of them said a word, but Edward knew they were both thinking the same thing. How in the world could they live without their mother? How could life continue without her to care for them, to smile at them, to hold them close? Edward's eyes remained dry, but soon Alphonse began to cry soft, snuffling tears that he muffled in his pillow.

Edward lay there for a while, staring up at the ceiling and remembering over and over again how the light had left his mother's soft grey eyes. But finally, he realized that Alphonse was still crying. In fact, he had begun to cry harder. Edward looked over at him, then after a moment's hesitation got up from his bed. He crossed the room to Alphonse's bed, shivering a little as his bare feet padded over the cold floor.

Alphonse looked up tearfully as Edward stood over him. A sob broke from his throat, and he half-rose, reaching out to his brother desperately. Edward's dry eyes filled with tears as he saw the lost, broken look in Alphonse's eyes, and Edward gathered his little brother into his arms as he sat down on the bed next to him.

The brothers needed no words as they held each other, the horrible truth finally sinking in. Their mother was _dead,_ and now the only family either of them had was each other. Edward gripped Alphonse as tightly as he could, wanting to comfort his little brother yet hungry for comfort himself.

"Why?" Alphonse mumbled, voice muffled and quivering as he wet Edward's shoulder with tears. "Why did she have to die?"

Edward squeezed his eyes shut at the agony in his heart. "I don't know," he whispered. "I don't know."

* * *

Edward numbly buttoned the cuffs of his best shirt, and his fingers mechanically put on his tie. He stared into the mirror, but he didn't recognize himself. Great dark circles had appeared under his eyes overnight, and he could have sworn he saw a small tuft of grey hair just over his temple. He quickly pushed his bangs back to cover it up.

Winry came into the room, face blank as she crossed over to the chair by the window and picked up her black shawl, throwing it haphazardly around her shoulders. Edward stepped over to her and arranged it more neatly over her long black dress. Winry's face mirrored the numbness Edward felt inside. Silently, Edward took her hand and led her out to the wagon where Nina and Trisha already sat in the back, wearing matching black dresses. Edward helped Winry up onto the seat, and as he began to climb up as well, Alphonse hurried out to them, shrugging on a black jacket over his white shirt. He hopped up to the seat, grabbed the reins, and set the borrowed horses on their way up the hill.

Edward felt numb all through the next hour or so. People came to pay their respects and shed their tears, the priest said a prayer that even Edward had to admit was beautiful, and the little coffin was gently laid in the small hole that had been dug before they had arrived. Then, men began to shovel dirt over the coffin until it was completely covered.

Edward was reminded forcibly of his mother's funeral as he stood mutely with his family before the tiny grave of his youngest daughter. Just as they had then, people drifted away one by one, till only the family was left. Eventually, Winry left to take the girls home, but Edward remained at the grave, his eyes fixed on the headstone.

How could this have happened? How had he let his precious little girl _die?_ Edward's eyes were dry, but his mind was a turmoil of confused thoughts. _She should have lived so many more years,_ he thought desperately. _I should have heard her little voice slowly learning how to talk. I should have held her in my lap and told her bedtime stories. I should have taught her how to read, how to draw a perfect circle._ But now he could do none of those things, because she was dead. She was gone. He had lost her.

Edward drew in a deep breath, and the cold February air seemed to pierce his heart like a knife. He pressed his lips tightly together to stop their trembling, but not even that could prevent the tears from welling up in his eyes and spilling down his cheeks. His breath came short as the tears he had been holding inside choked his throat in their eagerness to escape. Edward dropped to his knees on the cold, hard earth and he bent his head down, gripping his hair with both hands as the fresh grief ripped through him. The whole world seemed empty in those dark moments; all he could hear were his own broken sobs.

Then he felt a warm presence at his side. Alphonse wrapped his arms around his older brother, and Edward was enveloped in his warm embrace. Edward clutched at his brother's arms desperately, as if they were a lifeline and he was sinking. Alphonse gently rocked them both back and forth.

Finally, after Edward had managed to regain some of his breath, he gasped out, "Why? _Why_ did this happen?"

"I don't know," Alphonse whispered, and there were tears in his voice. "I guess there are some things...one cannot understand."


	20. Murderer

**Author's Note: Originally I'd written something different for this theme, but gradually that little piece of writing has transformed into a story that became too big and involved. Once I'd decided that, I realized I would need to write something else for this theme. I hemmed and hawed around, until finally I remembered a chilling little conversation in Chapter 71. I love Ed's statement: "I have the strength to **_**not**_** kill!" It's very **_**him.**_** But then I got thinking…and, well, this is what the result is.**

**Timeline: Chapter 81/Episode 44 (many spoilers up to then)**

**Theme 20: 'Murderer'**

"_Don't tell me you joined the military without the strength to kill?"_

"_I have the strength to _not_ kill!"_

As he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and waiting impatiently for his wounds to heal, Edward finally had time to think over that conversation. So much had happened since then, and he had been so anxious the whole time. There was Winry to worry about, and his plot with Major General Armstrong, stalling Kimbley, and then there was the whole ordeal with the news Marcoh brought about Scar's brother, and worrying over whether he could really trust Scar. Not to mention the three battles he had fought in quick succession, leading to him lying in this bed right now, wounded, in hiding, praying that the military wouldn't find him, that Winry had got away safely, that Alphonse had reached them in time to warn them of the danger they were in.

And yet, after all that, what worried him most of all was the chilling conversation he had had with Kimbley before most of this had begun. The crest of blood…. _"It means we'll do the same thing here we did in Ishbal."_ Edward shuddered at such a thought. The Ishbal War had cost thousands of lives, destroyed an entire civilization till there were only a few pockets of Ishbalites left. And Kimbley had asked him to do the same thing. If he hadn't escaped, he would have turned into a human weapon just like Colonel Mustang had been.

He had heard the story from Lieutenant Hawkeye: The war that had changed lives, when it hadn't ended them. Mustang had gone in an ambitious, optimistic young soldier with grand dreams…and he had come out gaunt, weary, haunted by nightmares and ghosts, pressing onward out of desperation and guilt rather than heroism.

And Edward wondered: _Would that have happened to me?_

He tried to imagine it, though he knew he would never really be able to unless he'd experienced it. He saw an image of himself, a few years older. But rather than delight at how much more mature he looked, all Edward could feel was horror. His shoulders slumped, his eyes dim and tired-looking, he looked ancient in his teenager's body. There was blood on his hands, and he stood looking upon a field of carnage. Hundreds of soldiers, all lying in pools of their own blood. And he had killed them all.

Edward shuddered and closed his eyes, trying to blot out that horrible image. He wasn't going to kill anyone. He had escaped his enemies' scrutiny; they couldn't force him to make this crest of blood they wanted for some reason. He _did_ have the strength to not kill. For better or worse, he couldn't bear to blot out any human life. Hadn't he been unable to fire when he saw those shells that had once been human, even when his friend's life was on the line?

But as he thought further, a chill ran down Edward's spine. That wasn't right at all. He had used those pitiful beings to pay the toll, to open the Doors and bring his friends through. He had used their power like so much inanimate matter, as if they were nothing more than a pile of elements on a shelf. He himself had once said, _"All of those elements can be bought with a child's pocket money. Human lives are so cheap."_ He had been in a cynical mood, but wasn't it in those times that his true nature was revealed?

He was a hypocrite.

Edward had just recently discovered that Lior, a town he had tried to help by exposing their fraudulent high priest, had suffered a violent struggle with the military. Many had died. Once, he had met a pair of brothers who, like Alphonse, were nothing but souls trapped in a suit of armor. He hadn't wanted to kill them; he'd tried to keep them alive. But they had been destroyed by the Homunculi. Really, it had been Edward's fault; he had asked about the operations in Lab 5, and it was for that reason the brothers had been killed.

Looking farther back, Edward remembered sweet little Nina Tucker, the cheerful little girl who had befriended him and his brother so quickly. Maybe it was because Nina called him 'Little Big Brother', but they hadn't known each other very long before Edward looked on her as the little sister he had never had. She had warmed his heart with her cheery disposition and unconditional acceptance of the brothers, not caring in the slightest that Edward had a metal arm and leg, nor that Alphonse was a towering, spiky suit of armor. He had loved her.

But what had he done? He had failed to protect her. He had played his part in the events that led to her death. She was his little sister, but he had let her die. No…in a way, he was the one who had killed her, not Scar.

But that wasn't the worst of it. Edward covered his face with his hands as his mind pressed in on him with the guilt he always tried to keep at bay. This was the real reason he was so focused. He just didn't think he could bear it if the weight of what he had done fell on him.

It hadn't been his fault that his mother had died. Not really. She had contracted the disease, and it was nobody's fault. But that didn't stop Edward from thinking that he should have noticed how tired his mother had grown in those last few weeks before she finally collapsed. He should have helped her more, should have complained a bit less. And then! What had he done once she had died? Tried to bring her back, of course. Attempted human transmutation and created an abomination, something that no one could call human. But it had been alive for a brief time, and because his creation was imperfect, it hadn't been able to survive. It had been _alive,_ no less valuable than Alphonse, and because of him it was nothing but a pile of bones and hair in a hole in the ground.

And Alphonse. He had dragged his unsuspecting little brother into this mess, and though he would have given anything to take Alphonse's place, neither of them could deny that Alphonse had come out of the ordeal worse off. Edward would never forget the look of absolute _terror_ as Alphonse was pulled away from him, reaching and straining and screaming one word over and over, as if all other words had vanished from his mind: _Brother!_ That was the one word Alphonse said more than any other, now that Edward thought about it. It defined him, in a way.

But while that word signified respect, love, companionship…now it only made Edward think about just how much he had _failed_ to be a brother to Alphonse. Older brothers were supposed to take care of their younger siblings, weren't they? That was what his mother had always said. _You're the big brother, Edward. It's your responsibility to take care of Alphonse. You have to be strong when he can't be._

And then, only a few years after she had said this to him, he had gone and killed his brother.

He knew what Alphonse would say if he could hear what Edward was thinking. _Don't be stupid, Brother. You didn't kill me; I'm not dead. Look! D_o_ I look dead to you? It wasn't your fault what happened._

But oh, Alphonse, yes it was. He was stuck in that horrible place with no one but 'Truth' to keep him company, with no conceivable way to get out. He was as good as dead, and Edward was just fooling himself with the thought that they could get him out of that place once and for all.

Edward was a 'murderer' – in quotes because he had never killed someone with his own hands. He had never stabbed his automail arm into someone's flesh and heard the sickening squelch that meant their life had ended, never pointed a gun and pulled the trigger and felt the lurch of the weapon pounding into him the terrible knowledge that he had killed…. But Edward had killed dozens of people, indirectly, mostly without meaning to or without realizing what he had done until later. He was a 'murderer', a man whose hands were clean of blood, but whose heart was heavy from the weight of all the deaths he was responsible for.

Easily the most horrible death he was responsible for was the figurative one of his little brother. It wrenched at him, tearing his heart to pieces and leaving him lying helpless on this stupid bed while he recuperated. _Oh, Alphonse,_ his heart cried out in his anguish, _you ought to hate me. I deserve nothing less. I deserve to suffer all of your torments, to starve away in oblivion, to be unable to feel anything at all._

Yet none of this brought tears to his eyes. It hurt like hell, but his wretched golden eyes were dry. He stared at the ceiling and Alphonse's rigid helmet swam before his eyes. He knew exactly what his little brother would say. _Oh, Brother,_ he would say, his voice a mere whispering rasp through the visor of his helmet. _Don't do this to yourself. I won't deny that it was a mistake to try human transmutation, that I'm in a horrible situation. But don't you see? When it comes down to it, none of that matters. In the end, I don't care if I'm a freak or a mistake or a botched attempt at redemption. I don't even care if I'm alive or not. I just care...for you, Brother._

Edward closed his eyes and breathed deeply, feeling the tension within him slowly loosening. Several tears streaked down his cheeks, and he mouthed silently, _I care for you too, Alphonse._


	21. Repentance and Confession

**Author's Note: This one is...quite different from most of the chapters. I don't know why; maybe it was what I'd been reading at the time, or maybe it was because I wrote this on a Sunday. But when I saw the theme...how could I write anything different? Some people might get annoyed at this one; I don't know. I, for one, rather like it. This is meant to be a sort of sequel to "I don't want to realize."**

**Timeline: A few days after "I don't want to realize"**

**Theme 21: Repentance/Confession**

Rhoda let herself into the chapel through the back door, hanging the keyring on the nail by the door. She quietly made her way past the rows of black and white robes the priests and choir wore, and hung her shawl on the little peg in the corner. She pulled on an apron and drew her hair back under a white cloth, then poked her head into the closet next to her peg, fetching the broom, mop, and bucket. A quick trip to the pump out back, and she was ready.

The door to the main sanctuary creaked slightly as she pushed it open with her back, her hands full with the bucket, mop, and broom. She set her bucket down just inside the door, humming softly to herself. Rhoda always thought it was rather unnerving to be in the echoey sanctuary all by herself, so she always hummed or sang to distract herself, to fill the empty silence with a bit of cheer.

Rhoda picked up the broom and began to sweep, starting in the corner by the door and steadily making her way across the floor to the other side of the sanctuary. She had nearly reached the confessional when she realized that she was not alone after all. She stopped in surprise, looking at the young man sitting in the back row. _How did he get in here?_ she wondered to herself. It was little surprise she hadn't noticed him before; he was rather short, and his head was bowed as if in prayer. Rhoda hesitated for a moment, wondering if she should speak to him or tell him to leave. The chapel was supposed to be closed today.... But then Rhoda thought better of it. He wasn't disturbing anything, and what was the chapel if not a place of prayer?

So Rhoda went about her business, sweeping away as if she hadn't noticed the young man at all. Still, she stopped her humming; she didn't want to disturb him. She finished her sweeping and went back to her bucket, plunged the mop in, and began to wash the stone floor. She didn't like mopping very much; she had to keep stooping down and pulling the bucket closer to her as she moved steadily across the floor.

As she drew closer to the back, Rhoda found herself glancing up at the young man from time to time. She realized after a while that he wasn't praying; he had opened one of the books in the pews and was reading silently, head bowed over the page. He only moved to turn a page every now and then. Rhoda wondered what passage he was reading. She wondered if it was the story of the little girl who was raised from the dead. She had always liked that story the best.

Suddenly, the young man moved, and Rhoda found herself freezing in place, her mop poised over the bucket. He closed the book, set it down onto the pew beside him, and pushed himself down into a kneeling position on the floor. Rhoda expected him to clasp his hands together, but instead he gripped the edge of the pew in front of him with both hands and rested his forehead against it. A cold chill ran down her arms as she realized that one of those hands was made of metal. Automail. Rhoda had always found automail rather frightening, ever since she was a little girl and it was a luxury only the rich could afford.

After a moment or two, Rhoda shook herself mentally and continued with her work. It was a shame that a young man like that should be in need of automail. A blessing that he was able to have two hands. Rhoda didn't mean to eavesdrop, but as she drew closer the man's whispers became more and more audible in the otherwise-silent chapel.

"Please, God," the voice murmured, "I don't even know if you exist or not, but I'm beginning to think you do. So...please. Please heal my brother. He's the only brother I've got. I don't know what I'd do without him, and...and they're saying he doesn't have much of a chance. But you say you can work miracles, so please, heal my brother. I...I don't want to lose him." The whispering voice broke, and it was a few minutes before he spoke up again.

"There's no way I could give you anything in exchange for his life, and I know there's little chance you'd want to pour out these blessings of yours on someone like me. God...I know what I did was wrong, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. If you're any kind of god at all, you'll know how sorry I am. I don't know why you'd ever want to forgive me, but...I think I need it. You said you wouldn't turn anyone away, didn't you? Well...here I am."

The man fell silent again, and Rhoda had worked her way around the back and was starting up the other side when he spoke once more, even quieter this time. Rhoda unconsciously leaned in a bit closer to hear. "Please...heal him," the man whispered. "Even if you damn me to hell, heal him."

After a silence that Rhoda thought was tense, as if the man was waiting for that damnation, he pushed himself to his feet, ran his sleeve across his face, picked up his coat, and strode swiftly out the main doors of the the chapel. He was gone almost before Rhoda had realized he had stood up. She thought she saw a brief flash under the main doors, but assured herself it was just her eyes playing tricks on her. She hesitated a moment, leaning on her mop and staring into space.

Finally, Rhoda shook herself and began to mop vigorously again. Suddenly she noticed that he had left the book sitting on the pew. She propped her mop against the bucket and stepped in between the pews, picking up the book with the intent of putting it back in its place. She hesitated with it in her hands, then opened it to the place where the ribbon bookmark was. Her eyes were immediately drawn to a smudge in one corner of the page, as if a drop of moisture had fallen on the page. The words were barely legible anymore, but Rhoda had read that passage enough times that she knew what it said.

"_The Lord is not slow to fulfill his promise as some count slowness, but is patient toward you, not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance."_

Rhoda wondered whether the young man had reached repentance. Then she remembered those words he had choked out into the silence of the chapel. Closing the book, Rhoda sank onto her knees and offered up a prayer of her own for this brother of his...whoever he was.


	22. God

**Author's Note: Gaah...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be dwelling on this storyline for so long. But wouldn't you know it? This is the next theme, and what else could I ever do? I'm pretty sure this storyline is finished now, though; this makes a good conclusion. I hope you don't think Ed's OOC.**

**Timeline: During/After "Repentance/Confession"**

**Theme 22: God**

_For NewMoonFlicker, who has waited so patiently for this chapter._

For his entire life, Edward Elric had never believed in God.

It was unscientific, he would say, or when he was in a good mood he would say he was agnostic. For God could not be seen or felt. No scientific measures could prove His existence (nor disprove it, but Edward preferred not to dwell on that). Whenever the subject came up, that was what Edward would say, and most of the time that was what he believed too.

But sometimes...sometimes, he began to doubt. Or rather, believe. Sometimes it just seemed too much of a coincidence for it just to be luck. Sometimes he wondered if there really was a God up there, looking down on this little alchemist and directing his steps. But usually, whenever he admitted to himself that there _might,_ just _might_ be a God, it only made his spirits sink lower than before. For if there was a God, Edward had stepped over into His divine territory, when he attempted human transmutation. And if there really was a God, didn't that mean He had cursed them, damned them, for their sins?

And Edward couldn't hate God for that. He more than deserved this punishment, for he knew how wrong he had been. If God was anything, Edward knew that He was just. So it followed that he would receive this punishment.

No, Edward didn't hate God for that. What he hated Him for was the way He always seemed to be mocking them, pushing them back down every time they raised their heads even a little in hope. Every time Edward thought the Philosopher's Stone was in his grasp, it slipped away, as if God was teasing him with a string and he was a kitten. Ironically, it was at times like these that Edward's faith was actually strongest. He shouted at God, screamed to the heavens, cursed the One who had created him and repeatedly punished him for his sins.

But then those moments of 'faith,' where he admitted the possibility, even the near certainty, of the existence of God, would fade away, and he would be an agnostic alchemist again, scoffing at 'backwards' religions that were obviously unscientific and misinformed because there was no solid proof that God existed.

Edward knew he was a hypocrite, but he hated to admit it.

If he had chosen to examine his own heart, Edward might have realized that he was struggling to reconcile with himself this question over God's existence. He would have realized he was constantly wavering between the two views, and as time drew on, he began to gravitate more towards one in particular. When he brought his brother's body back, Edward found himself faced with these questions again. As he sat in the hospital, watching Alphonse sleep for the first time in four years as nourishment seeped into his body through innumerable tubes...Edward wondered. Was it just lucky chance that had allowed him to bring his brother back at last? Or was it the divine will of God? But how could it be God's will, if He had been cursing them for all these years? If it had been His will to let Alphonse get his body back all along, why did he have to make them strive and kill themselves and run themselves into the ground for four long years? Surely, if He was any kind of God at all, He would have been able to give Alphonse's body back much sooner?

The answer came to him sometime around midnight that first night after Alphonse was in his body again. Edward had staunchly refused to leave Alphonse's side, so the nurses had grudgingly set up another bed in the room for him. Edward only dozed fitfully, wanting to be awake and on hand if Alphonse awoke in the night. Edward jerked awake after one of his dozes, and like a stroke of lightning, a thought occurred to him: Maybe God had waited that long so that they could go through all those experiences. If they had received their bodies immediately, they would never have embarked on their fateful quest. They would never have met any of those people, never have learned all those things about life, about death, about alchemy, about the world. And weren't they stronger for it? Weren't their lives that much more fulfilled? Their journey had been filled with pain and hardship, but there were bright spots as well. They had helped people, made friends. Those friends cared for them, loved them like family. Both brothers' lives would be that much darker if they had never met all those people.

Edward sat in the dark, feeling awed and humbled. If there really was a God...well. That would change everything, wouldn't it?

It was several years more before this question finally reconciled itself completely in Edward's mind. Alphonse was in an accident – a man lost control of a delivery truck, _wham crunch!_ And before Edward realized what was happening, he was speeding off to the hospital in the back of an ambulance with an unconscious Alphonse and several paramedics working busily around him.

And it was in the tense, worried wait in the hospital as he waited for the doctors' verdict that he finally acknowledged it. He believed in God. And now, there was nothing anyone could do but God.

Alphonse's condition stabilized, then worsened, then improved a little, then worsened even further. He lapsed into a coma, and the doctors began to tell Edward that the chances of Alphonse recovering were small, and growing smaller all the time.

And Edward prayed as if his life depended on it, because Alphonse's did.

Edward followed the doctors' suggestions and talked to Alphonse – cold, unresponsive, comatose Alphonse. And he prayed. He prayed aloud so Alphonse would hear his voice, and he didn't care who heard. He didn't care that word of this reached his friends, and he didn't care how surprised they all were. He put his faith in God, because He was the only one who could help Alphonse anymore.

And then, the unthinkable happened.

Alphonse woke up.

Edward's head was bowed in prayer as usual when he heard a wonderfully familiar voice groan, "Brother?"

Edward's head immediately shot up, and sure enough, Alphonse's eyes were open. "Al...." Edward whispered, afraid everything would shatter and it would all turn out to be a blissful dream.

But it did not shatter, and Alphonse groggily asked in that dear voice Edward hadn't heard for so long, "What happened?"

"You were...in an accident," Edward began, heart pounding against his ribs.

"But you saved me...right?"

"That's right," Edward said, reaching out and taking Alphonse's hand. Alphonse squeezed it gently, then his eyes slid closed again.

For a moment, Edward panicked. Then he realized the heart monitor was still beeping steadily, and Alphonse was breathing deep and full.

And in the days that followed, as Alphonse continued to improve till he was no longer in danger of imminent death, Edward repeatedly said the one thing that was most appropriate: "Thank God."


	23. Someone I Want To Protect

**Author's Note: This theme automatically brought up images of Hawkeye, since they are her famous words. And that naturally got me thinking about what relation the Elric brothers have to Mustang and his crew. And I was realizing that lots of people have noted the similarities between Ed and Mustang. I have read several fics that were completely devoted to pointing those similarities out. But nobody seems to pay much attention to the similarities between Al and Hawkeye. It's most obvious in one of the first panels of the manga that has the four of them all together – Ed and Mustang are insulting each other in the foreground, and in the background you can see Al and Hawkeye bowing politely to each other. That simple image brought forth all the musings that led to this piece.**

**Timeline: Mid-series**

**Theme 23: Someone I want to protect**

It was a conversation that made me friends with Lieutenant Hawkeye.

I suppose I can sort of understand why my brother and Colonel Mustang dislike each other so much. They're very similar people, deep down inside, and people like that can't stand another person like them, because they don't really like themselves in the first place. They're not satisfied, and they hate their own failings, so when someone comes along that reminds them so much of themselves, they can't bear it.

It's interesting that while Mustang and my brother are very similar, I am very similar to Hawkeye. I suppose, superficially you might say we're both calm, and act almost as babysitters to our respective charges, restraining them and scolding them gently. While my brother and Mustang greet each other with taunts and insults, I always greet Hawkeye with a bow and a polite phrase.

I suppose I should have realized sooner how we're similar in many other ways as well. I guess it never occurred to me until we had that conversation, because I respect her, look up to her rather than seeing her as my equal.

My brother had come to give Mustang his regular report, and as usual that meant I waited outside Mustang's office with his subordinates. This particular time, my brother had come rather early, so only Mustang and Hawkeye were there. I got to thinking, as I usually do, while I watched Hawkeye diligently starting on her paperwork. She's a rather pretty woman, you know, and though she's one of the best sharpshooters in the military, I've found her to be a gentle, kind woman under the surface. And as I watched her work, a question slowly formed in my mind.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye?" I finally asked when I had summed up my courage. She looked up, and I continued, "Um...I'm sorry to bother you, but I was just wondering.... Why did you join the military?"

She just looked at me for a moment, and I couldn't read her expression. At first, I almost thought she looked sad, but then her eyes sharpened as if she was measuring me up. I guess she was satisfied, because she laid down her pen and looked me full in the face. "There is someone I have to protect," she said clearly.

A sudden burst of laughter came from behind the door to Mustang's office; I recognized it as the Colonel's, and heard my brother's indignant voice reply before their voices lowered to normal volume. I looked at Hawkeye, and I saw the confirmation in her eyes.

"And so," Hawkeye continued quietly, "I must remain in the military until he reaches his goal. Until there is no need to protect him anymore."

I nodded, and pondered this as she returned to her paperwork. And I realized, as I continued to watch her, how very similar we were. How similar we still are, to this day.

Because I have someone I need to protect, too.

My brother is a very strong person. I will be the first to testify to that. He can weather through the greatest trials of body and spirit, and he can pick himself up again when a lesser man would drown in helplessness. And I know he does this because of me. If it weren't for me, would he have forced himself to rise again? Maybe it's selfish and vain to think like that, but I think it's true. I've seen it myself. My brother's greatest weakness is me.

That's why I have to be his greatest strength as well. I have to protect him, guard that vulnerable part of him. And this protection takes many different forms. Sometimes it's rushing into the path of a bullet, which will only ricochet off my chest, but tear through his bone and flesh. Sometimes it's scolding him and telling him to eat something, or turn out the lights, or stop worrying. Other times it's covering for him when he needs to be alone, warding people away when he feels like he hates the world and everything in it. And sometimes, a very few times, it's holding him, letting him cry, offering what little comfort I can.

Yes, there is someone I want to protect. I say _want_ because it's not always possible to protect him. Sometimes he won't let me, or maybe I'm not there. I always feel so guilty when my brother gets hurt and I'm not around. I feel like I should have been there. I should have been able to do something to prevent him from being hurt. It doesn't matter if it's illogical or just plain stupid and I'm nothing but a worrywart. That's still the way I feel.

When Hawkeye lost all hope and nearly gave up her own life because she thought Mustang was dead, I understood how she felt. I could see myself in her place, crying and screaming because someone told me my brother was dead and I had not been able to protect him. I knew that if such a thing happened, I would be worse off than she was.

That's yet another reason I have to protect my brother. Without him, I would be less than nothing.


	24. Not There

**Author's Note: I'll admit that I got inspiration to write this one from CaptainKase's fic "Shattered" (and by the way, anyone who likes heartwrenching and/or angsty fics centering around Ed (most of the time), go read that). Obviously, CaptainKase is a much better writer than I am, but we lesser writers aspire to write like those we admire. CaptainKase seems to enjoy killing Ed and Al, and as I was reading some truly heartwrenching chapters, I got this burning urge to write something similar. This is my attempt to do that. It's hopelessly sad, I know. But when I saw the theme, I heard Al's plaintive little voice saying, "Not there...." My heart just about broke T_T**

**Timeline: AU Postseries**

**Theme 24: 'Not there'**

I never realized the world could seem so empty at the loss of just one person. There was a hollow cavity in my stomach that never left, no matter what I did. It hounded me, and though I felt terribly empty I didn't want to eat. I _couldn't_ eat. Because everything I did, even the mundane, everyday sorts of things like washing my hands or getting out of my chair to hobble around the room, reminded me of _him._ When I looked in the mirror, I would do a double-take, because I looked _so_ much like him, and it _hurt._ If it wasn't for these silver eyes, I would be almost convinced that was my brother, and I would never be able to drag myself away from the mirror. As it was, I couldn't even convince _myself_ that it was him.

Winry and Granny Pinako tried their hardest to help me. They really did. Granny had always struck me as a firm, sensible woman; I'd never run up to her for a hug like some of my childhood friends' grannies. She wasn't soft and she didn't smell like cookies the way they did. But even so, when I woke up that first day and began to cry as though I would never stop, she held me in her small arms and rocked me back and forth, murmuring soothing phrases into my ear. I had never known she could be so motherly.

And Winry held my hand. She squeezed and caressed it, never saying a word because she was crying too hard herself. But I could tell from the gentle touch of her hand that she was there for me, even in my grief, that she felt what I was feeling, that I was not alone. It was the first time in years upon years that anyone had held my hand and I had been able to feel it, and that sensation of her warm, comforting hand would have been enough to bring tears to my eyes even under ordinary circumstances.

But neither Granny Pinako nor even Winry could really give me any comfort at all. They were wonderful, and they did their best...but I wanted _him_ to comfort me. I wanted _him_ to gather me into his arms, to rock me back and forth, to murmur in my ear, "Shh. It's going to be all right. It's _going_ to be all _right,_ Al." I wanted _him_ to hold my hand, stroke it, caress it. I wanted _him_ to be the first to touch me. But he wasn't there, so he couldn't. And so I cried.

I cried myself to sleep, and when I woke, I would begin to cry again. It had been five very long years since I had shed a single tear, and it seemed that all of those tears that had gone unshed now spilled out. Sometimes I sobbed at the top of my lungs, so hard I shook the bed I lay on and whoever happened to be holding me at the time; other times I just lay there, letting the tears silently slip down my face, not even bothering to wipe them away. My eyes became red and puffy, and they itched something awful. My nose was red as well, and rubbed raw from all the times Granny wiped it clean. But I didn't care. I felt miserable enough already that a few discomforts in this new body didn't make much of a difference.

I could hear them whispering about me sometimes when they thought I was asleep (really, I was awake and just crying silently). "What should we do?" they would whisper. "Surely, he should have started recovering by now. It's been three days already.... But they were very close. This is quite understandably hard for him. Still, he needs to eat something or he'll starve himself. Maybe we should call a psychiatrist...."

Those whispers didn't bother me too much. I didn't care what they did to me, because nothing mattered anymore. I knew that if _he_ had been there, he would have been irate. "How dare you even _suggest_ something like that?!" he would yell. "Don't you come near him again! I'll take care of him myself!" And sometimes I almost imagined I heard him say that, and for a moment my tears would cease. He would take care of me. He _always_ took care of me. But then I would remember: He wasn't there. He couldn't take care of me anymore. And so I cried again.

On the third day, Granny came softly in with a bowl of thin, steaming broth and a glass of water. I tried to roll over so I was facing the wall, but I wasn't used to my muscles yet, and I wasn't very coordinated, so I only managed to flop a little. Then Winry came in, and they stood on both sides of the bed as if to force the food down. But I couldn't struggle. Granny picked up the glass of water and pressed it against my lips. As soon as the cool, refreshing liquid entered my mouth, I seemed to be fleeting miles away, in a blissful bubble of paradise. I hadn't _tasted_ anything in five years, and that simple gulp of water was like a taste of heaven.

And naturally, as soon as my mind said _heaven,_ I began to cry. I continued to drink, because that blissfully cool, wet liquid was the most wonderful thing I'd ever tasted, and I was incredibly thirsty without even realizing it. But tears ran down my cheeks even as I drank, because the less rational part of my mind was telling me that as long as I kept that taste of heaven on my tongue, I would be closer to _him._

Then came the broth, and that tasted even more wonderful than the water, if that was possible. It was warm, nourishing, wholesome...and that thin taste of chicken made all of my taste buds come alive. I began to shudder with sobs as Granny gently tipped the broth into my mouth, and I shook the bowl so it spilled all over the sheets. But Granny didn't scold. She just sent Winry to get clean ones, pulled off the ones I had soiled, and wiped my face with a napkin. I expected her to take the dishes away and leave me alone – that was what I was _hoping_ she would do, at any rate. But instead she perched on the edge of the bed and, with the most _loving, gentle_ touch I have ever felt, brushed my ragged strands of hair out of my face. She kept her old, wrinkly hand on my cheek and gazed into my bloodshot eyes for a long time. Then she said, in a very quiet voice, "He wanted you to _live,_ Alphonse."

She leaned forward and kissed me on the forehead, then straightened up and took the dishes away, leaving me alone at last. I knew the truth of her words. I knew he would want me to live. But I wanted him to tell me that himself. I wanted him to look at me, with that stubborn, desperate determination lighting up his golden eyes, and I wanted him to say, "Al, you have to _live._ Promise me that, okay?" But he didn't, because he _wasn't there._ And so I still cried.

I don't know how many days passed like that. I once asked Winry, and she said (with a bleak look in her eye that made my heart sink like a stone) it was three weeks. Three weeks of crying, sleeping, and being fed increasingly varied food. Three weeks. For me, it was an eternity. I don't know when things started turn upwards, if you could call it that. Granny says there wasn't really a day when I could suddenly handle it better, but my memories of that time are all squashed together. So when I remember it, I remember waking up one morning to hear the birds chirping outside, to see the sunlight shining cheerfully into the room, spreading a shaft of warmth across my legs. And as I looked at the dust motes floating in the sunshine, I remembered what Granny had said. He wanted me to _live._ That's what he had given everything up for in the first place. And if I _didn't_ live, _truly_ live...it would mean his sacrifice had been a failure. His beautiful, _ultimate_ sacrifice. And if ever there had been a need for Equivalent Trade, that was it right there.

With that realization came the determination I've inherited from my father and, in a way, my brother as well. I would live. I would _not_ let his final, ultimate sacrifice be in vain. I looked out the window, and it seemed that I realized the beauty of the rolling hills of Risenpool for the first time. Life, and all the beautiful things in it.... That was what he had given me. It was like one huge, enormous present that I would never be able to explore completely. But because my brother was gone, because he wasn't there, I had to experience every bit of that gift I possibly could.

So I sat up, _forcing_ my muscles to obey me, and I tried to stand up. I toppled to the floor with a loud thump, and Winry came rushing to see what was wrong. She heaved me up, her words stumbling over each other as she asked me what I was doing. "Bathroom," I mumbled, my lips clumsy still, saying the first thing that came to mind. And even that simple, extremely mundane word made me think of him. It reminded me of all those early mornings when I had been small, before any of these wretched things had happened, back when I would have to be helped to the bathroom in the morning because I was too sleepy to find my way there by myself. Tears smarted in my eyes, but they did not fall this time. I made myself concentrate instead on putting one foot in front of the other like Winry told me to, as she practically dragged me out of my room and down the hall to the bathroom.

Things progressed slowly. Winry helped me a lot in those first days, supporting my weight as best she could while I struggled to make my legs support me as we walked up and down the hall. I know I took many hours of Winry's time, but she never complained. I think she was relieved that at last I was doing something more than lying in bed and crying all day. And it also provided a distraction so neither of us had to think about how much we missed _him._

After a week or so of hard work, I could struggle up and down the stairs by myself, and I started joining the others at mealtimes. I worked as hard as I could at making my clumsy fingers obey me so I could feed myself, and gradually I was able to do more and more things myself. I slowly grew used to having a body again, and little by little I put it under my control again. But every day, every time I managed to stagger all the way down the hall or successfully cut my chicken up all by myself, I thought of _him._ I thought of how his face would fill with pure _joy_ if he saw me doing these things in the body he had given me. I thought of how much stronger he would be than Winry, how much easier it would be for him to hold up my weight as he helped me stumble along. I thought of how gentle his voice would be as he encouraged me. I thought of his warm hand patiently wrapping my fingers around a fork...and I wanted to cry. But I didn't, because I knew Granny and Winry thought I was healing, and I hated to disappoint them.

I became adept at hiding how broken I was inside. I never healed, but I knew how sad Granny and Winry would be if they knew that, so I pretended I had. I never laughed, and my smiles were only small and very rare, but I gave the appearance of someone who was learning to cope, to move on, to find other meanings in life. I acted calm, and as I relearned more and more things in my new body, I began to feel and act more like my old self again. But there was something missing inside me, and I think they could tell. I retreated to my favorite spot down by the river many times, and – because I knew no one but my brother could _ever_ find me there – I would cry bitterly. I would always make sure to wait long enough after I stopped crying before I returned to the house, so no one would suspect that I had been crying.

But the fact remains that I am absolutely, irretrievably, undeniably _shattered,_ because he is _not there._

After I had been in my body again for roughly two months, I announced to Winry and Granny that I was going to Central. I didn't say why, though I think they knew anyway. They knew I was just as capable as I had ever been, except perhaps with my penmanship (which still looked distinctly childish). So they went with me to the station, Granny bought my ticket for me, and Winry gave me the lunch she had packed for me. Then I stepped onto the train, found a window, and waved at them till they had disappeared from sight.

The train ride was _hauntingly_ familiar. We had made it so many times, he and I, going from Risenpool to Central and back. I would watch him eat or sleep, and sometimes we would play cards to while away the hours. Once, we borrowed a checkerboard from Lieutenant Breda; the board was upended in a particularly violent jerk of the train, and the pieces went flying. We never did find the last black piece. This time, however, I had no one to watch, no one to talk with, no one to play cards with and catch cheating. I felt very alone, and the hollow place inside me throbbed. So I stared out the window at the scenery rushing past, telling myself I _must not cry._

Central was just as I remembered it, too. The same hustle and bustle, the same loud noises. This time, though, I smelled the strange, invigorating smells too, and I drank in everything as I had never been able to before. I kept on telling myself that this was what he would want. Yet I kept on imagining I saw him, and I had to keep on reminding myself it wasn't him. He wasn't there, wasn't there. _He's not there, not there, not there,_ I told myself as my eyes moved over the crowds I passed, repeating this mantra over and over to myself.

The Central Military Headquarters was larger than I remembered it, even though I must have gone there at least a hundred times over the past five years. I knew those hallways well; I knew the quickest route to the particular office that was my destination. I stood before the door for a long time; this had been my whole purpose all this time, but now that it came to it.... I had always known I would have to tell them eventually. They had cared for him too, even if no one ever said it. They were probably worried about him. But I knew what their reactions would be, and I knew that my news would most likely darken the rest of their days – perhaps not as drastically as it had affected me, but they would be shadowed all the same. My brother had a way with people that tended to be like that.

Finally, after it seemed I had been standing there for an hour, I summed up my courage and knocked. A little later, the door opened and there stood Lieutenant Hawkeye, prim and precise as always. "Yes? May I help you?" she asked as though she didn't know me.

I was a little surprised, though I suppose I shouldn't have been. After all, she had only ever known me as a hulking, empty suit of armor. "I'm here to see Colonel Mustang," I said, trying not to let the surprise show in my face.

"Do you have an-" Then Hawkeye stopped, and looked at me closer, her eyebrows knitting together sharply. There was a tense moment as she looked me over, then she said in a soft, astonished voice, "Alphonse?"

Before I knew what was happening, I was pulled into the room and surrounded by all of Mustang's subordinates. They all exclaimed in wonder and delight, obviously drinking me in. None of them had known me when I was human before, and I imagine it was a rather bizarre experience to see a boy they had never seen, speaking with the voice they knew so well. After a few minutes of this loud scrutiny, Mustang came out of his personal office to see what all the commotion was about. Just like the others, he stared at me, stunned, then rushed up and exclaimed in joy.

"But where's Full Metal?" he asked after a while.

Of course, they always looked past me to _him._ He was the one they _really_ cared about. I wasn't really jealous, because I understood. I understood much better than even they did. But it still brought a tightness in my chest. Now was the time when I would have to tell them the dreadful, _horrible_ news. I fidgeted for a moment, staring down at my feet. "He's..." I tried to say _in Risenpool_ or _at the hotel_ or even _running late_ or _not coming._ But then I looked up at their worried, caring faces, and said, "Not there. He's _not there!_"

And it felt like those words tore out a bit of my soul. I burst into sobs, the tears I had worked so long and hard to hide from Winry and Granny Pinako running down my cheeks for them all to see. And once again, I didn't care. I wrapped my arms around Mustang, burying my face in his uniform, and I didn't care. I didn't care who saw, I didn't care what any of them thought, because I am _shattered_ without my brother.


	25. So I'm Crying

**Author's Note: First, I apologize for the delay in this chapter getting put up, due to medical reasons. I must have been in a "Shattered" funk when I wrote this, because I felt an insane urge to write some Parental!Roy, something I'd never written before. Yeah, I'll blame it on CaptainKase XD Well, here's another one with one of them dead.**

**Timeline: Mid- to Post-series**

**Theme 25: 'So I'm crying'**

Roy Mustang had never seen Edward Elric cry. The first time he had seen him, Edward had been a miserable, blank-eyed cripple. There had been no hope in those golden eyes the first time he had looked into them. Edward had just sat there, staring at the lone hand in his lap, not saying a word. The hunch of his shoulders betrayed the guilt he felt at the empty suit of armor standing behind him. He had been the most broken child Roy had ever seen – and he had seen quite a few. Roy would not have been surprised if Edward had started crying. But he didn't.

On the rainy night Roy had been called to investigate the mysterious death of Shou Tucker's daughter-turned-chimera, Edward had been there as well. He stood in the alleyway, slamming his palms on the bloodstain on the wall, over and over again, as if hoping to somehow bring the miserable creature back. He had seemed close to breaking point that night. His shoulders were hunched the same way, as if he carried the guilt of Nina Tucker's death, and he shouted at everything Roy said. Edward's voice became harsh and shrill; maybe it was just his pubescent voice changing, but Roy thought it rather sounded like it broke. Then Edward ran out of the alleyway and stood there, trembling in the rain. It almost looked as though tears were rolling down his cheeks, but Roy told himself it was just the rain.

Edward never cried from pain. Roy had seen him in the hospital countless times, hardly half-alive more often than not, but no matter how severe his wounds were or how much they must hurt, he never shed a tear.

Roy knew that Edward wanted to appear tough. He was so young, but he wanted to be treated like an adult. For him, that meant getting angry an inordinate number of times, never complaining about physical pain, and never _ever_ crying. At least not in front of his superior officer.

Roy supposed the boy must let down his tough facade every once in a while. He suspected Edward only did so in front of his brother; those two were so close he doubted they kept many secrets from each other. But Roy had never seen Edward let down his protective mask before.

He knew in his mind what it must be like. Yet when he was faced with the real thing, an Edward hunched over on the ground, his whole body rocking with his loud, heartbreaking sobs.... Roy discovered he had not been prepared. He found he could only stare numbly at first, just stare at this strange, sobbing boy he didn't know. Where was the strong, quick-tempered youth he knew so well?

But slowly Roy realized that this pitiable, vulnerable boy had been there all the time, hiding behind his strong-shouldered alter ego. Roy's heart clenched in his chest as he watched Edward rock back and forth, hugging himself as if searching desperately for some form of comfort. Roy knelt down beside the boy on the muddy ground, not caring that his best pants were soaking through and would probably be stained forever.

Roy didn't know what to do. He had never been good at comforting people. Well, he was good at comforting Lieutenant Hawkeye, but that was because he had known her for years and they understood each other almost without saying anything. And as Roy thought of that, he realized that the Elric brothers had been somewhat similar. He had seen them talking sometimes, finishing each other's sentences and starting to laugh before the other had even finished what they were saying. That was only one sign of the deep bond the two of them had shared. Roy knew it was all that had kept Edward going.

Roy did not have a brother, but he thought of the way he would feel if he ever lost Hawkeye, and he thought he could understand Edward's pain a little. It was different, oh yes, very different indeed. But the fact remained that Edward had cared very deeply for Alphonse, and now Alphonse was gone.

Every sob that escaped Edward's throat seemed to rip through Roy's heart. He gently laid a hand on Edward's heaving left shoulder. He didn't know what to say, so he merely whispered, "Edward."

"So I'm crying," Edward forced out, his voice necessarily vicious as he pushed it out past his own heaving sobs and trembling lips. "Going to laugh at me now?" He was crying so hard he could barely get enough breath; he was nearly hyperventilating as each sob followed closely on the heels of the previous one, not leaving any room for breaths in between.

"How could I laugh at you?" Roy was almost surprised, though he supposed he shouldn't have been, when his voice broke and he found his own lips trembling, threatening to obstruct his words as well. "Oh, Edward." He gathered the small boy into his arms, holding him and letting him cry. His hand unconsciously patted Edward steadily on the back.

Roy was oblivious to the other people attending Alphonse Elric's funeral. He was unaware that they slowly began to filter away, deciding the two men needed to be alone. All Roy knew was the boy shaking and sobbing in his arms, and the pain in his own heart.


	26. Cureless

**Author's Note: I probably should've stopped reading CaptainKase, because I am most definitely developing a habit of killing off the brothers. I do try not to, but then I see the theme and it all just spills out.... Ah well. I blame it on the depressing themes. Though I did laugh when I read this one. 'Cureless' isn't actually a real word – it's 'incurable' XD**

**Timeline: Post-series (when is it not? XP)**

**Theme 26: Cureless**

"It's cureless."

Those were the words that greeted Alphonse Elric that bright, beautiful autumn morning. He had hardly stepped through the door to his brother's private hospital room. He had just opened his mouth to wish Edward a cheerful 'Good morning, Brother' that belied the anxiety he had lived with the past week.

And before he could do anything, Edward spoke the words that marked the turning point in both of their lives. Alphonse stood in the doorway, mouth still open, and stared in horror at his brother. He was unable to move, unable to speak. He could only stare at Edward, who sat up in his bed, hands folded calmly in his lap, a placid expression on his face.

Finally, Alphonse managed to say, "B-But the doctors said-"

"I know," Edward interrupted. His expression didn't change in the slightest. "They were wrong. It's cancer, Al. They've never been able to find a cure. I'm going to die."

"No!" The word came out in a scream that made a man walking down the hallways outside start with surprise and look at him oddly.

Alphonse firmly closed the door and walked over to Edward's side. A huge lump began to form in his throat, but he managed to choke out, "H-How long?"

"They estimate about three months," Edward replied calmly.

"Okay...." Alphonse could feel his face paling. So little time. Could he manage it? Yes. He had to. There was no alternative. Because if he failed.... The lump in his throat became horribly painful, and the tears he had known were imminent began to fill his eyes.

Wordlessly, he wrapped his arms around his older brother and allowed himself to let out his grief. He knew he would have to begin very soon, but he needed this time first.

And Edward held him, oblivious to the facts and theories already chasing each other madly around his younger brother's brain.

* * *

_Brrring. Brrring. Brrring._

Halfway through the fourth ring, Alphonse reluctantly picked up the receiver of the phone that sat on the corner of his desk. "Hello?" he asked, trying to keep the reluctance from his voice. He knew who it would be. No one else ever called.

"Hey, Al, how's it going?" Edward's familiar voice crackled through the phone line. "I haven't seen you in a while, and you didn't stay long then either." Beneath the cheery veneer, Alphonse could detect a hint of pain.

"Oh...well, I've been busy." Despite himself, Alphonse felt a jab of guilt. He covered this up by picking up Albert Beidermann's _Elements of Medical Alchemy_ and flipping to the chapter he had been meaning to look up before the phone rang.

"Busy? With what?" The hint of pain became marginally louder in his voice. Alphonse knew he was really asking, _What's become so important that you put it above me, your only dying brother?_

Alphonse knew Edward wanted him to say he was sorry, to blurt everything out and rush over to the hospital as soon as he hung up. Instead, Alphonse said, "Oh, you know. That theory I've been working on to successfully separate chimeras."

There was a brief silence, then Edward's voice came again, cold and acidic. "I see. Well, I'd better not detain you from your world-impacting research."

"Wait-" Alphonse began, but Edward hung up as loudly as possible. Alphonse let out his breath in a huff, threw down the receiver, and returned ferociously to his notes.

And when Edward called the next day to apologize and tell him his condition had dramatically worsened and wouldn't he please just come for a short visit, Alphonse pulled the cord out of the wall at the second ring.

* * *

Alphonse walked with long strides down the Central streets, notes clutched in his hand and a burning feeling in his chest. He couldn't decide whether this was a positive or negative feeling, and he tried to puzzle this out as he hurried towards the hospital.

He had done it. After three months of constant hard work and hardly any sleep, he had finally found the solution. He had built upon Albert Beidermann's work and some of the theories he had formulated himself when he had been new to the field of medical alchemy, and the result was these few pages of notes and transmutation circles in his hand. All he had to do now was draw the circles on the hospital floor, place his brother there, and then Edward would be healed at last.

Alphonse hurried up to the receptionist at the front desk. "I'm here to see Edward Elric, please," he said, his heart thudding in his throat. The receptionist directed him to the proper floor, and Alphonse took the stairs two at a time. He imagined what he would say. _I've done it, Brother. I'm going to make you well._ What did it matter that he hadn't visited Edward in over a month? Now they would have forever.

The door to Edward's room wasn't closed, and Alphonse could see doctors' white coats in the room. He sped up, burst into the room, and opened his mouth to say, "I've done it, Brother!"

But then he froze in the doorway, unable to speak, unable to move, his mouth hanging open. For a nurse was just then pulling up a white sheet over Edward's placid, dead face.

Alphonse couldn't move, not even to sink to the floor. He was vaguely aware of people talking to him, but he ignored them. He could only stare at the lumpy form that had once been his only brother.

"You're his brother, aren't you? Alphonse Elric?"

"I'm so sorry, son."

"If it's any comfort...he passed away in his sleep. There was no pain."

"He wanted me to make sure a message got to you." Alphonse looked away at last and saw that a dark-skinned nurse was speaking to him. He wondered dimly if she came from Lior or Ishbal. "He said he wanted to apologize for his words, and that he loved you. And...he said he was glad for all the chimeras you would save." She looked utterly confused.

But Alphonse let out a wail of grief, his tongue suddenly loosed in the dread realization of what he had done, and he slumped to the ground. Once again, he was oblivious to the nurses. For his brother was dead.

And he had never said goodbye.

In the years to come, Alphonse Elric became famous, and many lives were saved with his research. All those who studied in the Edward Memorial Institute for Medical Alchemy, which Alphonse had founded with the proceeds of his discovery, learned of the great man who had pioneered the use of alchemy for seemingly incurable diseases. They said it was a shame he had died so young. Just think of all the cures he might have been able to find, had he lived longer! But their hero had died in a binge of alcohol consumption, and they had to live with that.

About a third of all cancer patients recover from their disease, but there is no cure for heartbreak.


	27. Dependency

**Author's Note: I thought it was high time for a more uplifting chapter, and this theme fit in very nicely with that plan. What a wonderful theme. That simple word made my heart soar when I saw it, because I immediately associate it with the Elric brothers. It wasn't hard at all to think of what to write for this one.**

**Timeline: Mid-series**

**Theme 27: Dependency**

No one who met them could deny that Edward and Alphonse Elric depended on one another. It was as obvious as the red coat on Edward's back, and the echo in Alphonse's voice.

The Elric brothers made the perfect team in battle. It was as if they could read each other's minds. When Edward charged forward to attack, Alphonse guarded his flank. When Alphonse moved to the right, Edward swung to the left. They were perfectly coordinated, but this was because they trusted each other to be in the right place at the right time. They depended on it.

Anyone who observed the Elric brothers while they were researching would have to admit they made an efficient team. They split the work between themselves, sailing through a mountain of books with ease. They always worked on different areas, then combined their results at the end of the day and analyzed the outcome. In this way, they were able to easily accomplish together what they would have been hard-pressed to complete on their own.

But there was more. The grace and efficiency of the Elric brothers in battle and alchemy was only the surface of the matter.

Disinterested outsiders might not have seen it. It was obvious that the Elric brothers got along very well; they could often be seen walking side-by-side, talking amiably, or else laughing at some joke or other. If one caught them at the right time, one might see Edward sleeping with his head resting against Alphonse's shoulder, or else lying on Alphonse's metal thigh.

All these things indicated an intimacy that, sadly, few brothers share. But that was still not the extent of their dependence on one another.

Sometimes, it was a loud, emotional dependency. Edward screamed and cried and cursed when Alphonse was pulled into the Gate; he trembled with desperation and pain as he screamed, "He's the only little brother I have!" Alphonse screamed and yelled and struggled to crawl when Scar advanced, ready for the kill; he shook with dread and unshed tears as he screamed, "We're all we've got!" They shouted at each other, they felt the surge of every emotion, they cried, they clung to each other with all their might. At times, their dependency completely exhausted them.

Then at other times it was a quiet, everyday dependency. Alphonse's nonexistent heart would soar in response to a soft, loving smile from Edward. Edward would feel a brief respite from his guilt when he saw the way Alphonse's eyes glowed with warmth when they looked at each other. There were times when they didn't have to say anything, when they already knew, when a pat on the head or a hand on the shoulder was all they needed to say, "I love you." When the fury of their emotions subsided, they were left with the calm, quiet comfort of each other. They would sit in companionable silence, or Edward would drift off to sleep in Alphonse's lap like a small child.

Yes, the Elric brothers depended on each other. They depended on each other for everything...because they had no one else.


	28. Pain and Wounds

**Author's Note: First I was just going to make this be about the incident with the metal beam. But then I started thinking about the last chapter up to that point, and this story began to form itself in my mind. I'm pretty positive this isn't the way the manga's going to end up, so consider this AU.**

**Timeline: Sometime mid-series (towards end); spoilers for Chapters 76 and 84/Episodes 41 and 47  
**

**Theme 28: Pain & Wounds**

Edward Elric was no stranger to pain.

Edward had felt the concentrated pain of first his leg, then his arm, torn right off. He had screamed, he had felt the warm gush of his lifeblood pouring out over the unforgiving stones of the floor. The pain had left his head spinning, his breath wheezing through his teeth in short gasps as he lost more and more blood. Desperation and guilt, that horrible knowledge that everything, _everything_ was his fault, all crashed together and pounded against those gaping holes in his flesh where blood spilled out freely. The pain left him reeling, and he often wondered afterward how he had managed to keep from passing out before he was finished drawing the circle of blood in the empty suit of armor and on his arms, leg, and chest.

Edward had suffered the sheer, excruciating _agony_ of automail surgery. He felt the constant jabs of pain that surged up every nerve, like strings of fire that wrapped around his entire body and would not let him go, no matter how he twisted and writhed. To be still was to know pain, to be in motion was to know agony through every cell of his body. Even the shallow breaths that expanded his ribs made his nerves _ache_ and melt and fuse together till his whole body was on fire. He was feverish and in pain every moment of every day, and there was no reprieve. Not even when he slept was he free from the pain. There was no place left to think, for every thought was swept out of his mind to make way for that all-consuming _pain._

And Edward felt that same horrible agony every time his limbs were reconnected. It was never half as agonizing, but he still endured hours of the flames licking around the insides of his body till he sweated and gasped and wished he could die, trapped in a cocoon of heat and pain.

Edward was accustomed to wounds.

He had the scars to prove it, too. If he had cared to, Edward could have pulled off his shirt and pointed to each in turn. "That one was from Number 48 in Lab 5," he would say. "This one came from Envy. That's from a time Master threw a knife at me. Oh, and that little one was from Winry." And on and on and on. Edward knew what pain was. He knew how it felt to be cut and impaled, and he knew how those wounds slowed him down in combat.

Perhaps the worst wound he had ever suffered was when an iron beam had pierced right through his left side, narrowly missing his kidney and nearly killing him in the process. He had been fighting Kimbley, who had blown up the tower they had been fighting in, and he had fallen to the ground far below. When he had tried to push himself back up, sudden pain had sliced through him. And when he had looked over his shoulder, he had seen a massive metal beam driven right through him. He had felt his blood splatter onto the ground when he moved, and a horrible realization had struck him: He was going to die.

His strength had given out, and he had fallen to the ground, unable to move much more than a tremble and a twitch. In that moment, his thoughts had raced to Alphonse. He had wished his little brother could be at his side. He had longed for Alphonse's cold metal hand on his cheek, his echoing voice murmuring to him that everything was going to be all right. Edward had groped at the ground, whispering Alphonse's name and knowing his little brother was in no position to help him. And the mere knowledge that Alphonse was miles away, oblivious to Edward's pain and his need for a comforting presence, made the pain all the worse.

For a time, Edward had been afraid that he would die of that wound. He had felt death creeping towards him, darkening the edges of his vision. But he had not died. He had survived to see Alphonse again.

A pity that the circumstances were so dire.

Edward stood, rooted to the spot, as he stared at Alphonse's familiar metal body. He knew every inch of that body, from the pointed toes to the ragged scrap of hair that flowed from his helmet. There had been so many times when he had touched that metal body and found comfort, strange though that might seem. Over the years, a cold gauntlet on his shoulder had been more soothing than the warmest, gentlest hand. Those cold, unfeeling gauntlets had fixed his transmutation circles for him. They had carried him when he was weak, nursed him back to health when he was sick, held him and comforted him and stroked his tousled head when he woke from a nightmare, sobbing and frantic and staring wildly around at the shadows.

But now those gauntlets were held in place by black tendrils that _shouldn't_ have been that strong. They reminded Edward of the horrible black hands that had darted out from the Doors of Truth and pulled away everything that was dear to him. But they looked so fragile, so weak! Surely, they could never be strong enough to hold Alphonse, _his_ Alphonse, that suit of armor filled with strength, immobile! Yet there stood Alphonse, and it was clear from the way his whole body trembled that he couldn't move an inch.

And even as it occurred to Edward to rush to his little brother's aid, he looked down and found those same tendrils wrapping around his own body. Before he could take more than one step, they had rendered him immobile too. Edward glared daggers at Pride, who stood calmly by, a placid smile on his face. The smile widened ever so slightly as he took in Edward's rage – and his complete inability to do anything about it. "Well, now," he said, his child's voice so cold and _un_-childlike that it sent shivers down Edward's spine. "I have you both where I want you. It's time for the sacrifice."

Edward whipped his head around to face Alphonse again, horror and desperation rising up inside of him. He saw one of the black tendrils slip through the crack underneath Alphonse's helmet, and for a moment he thought his heart stopped. Then he strained with all his might against the tendrils. "No! No, Al!" he cried, but the tendrils did not give way.

Suddenly, Alphonse stiffened. "Brother," he said. It wasn't a cry of alarm or surprise. It was the voice of someone who knew they were going to die, and it was a voice filled with emotion. With that one word, Alphonse said everything he had ever wanted to say, everything he had needed to say. _I miss you and I love you and I need you,_ he said. _You're the most important person in my life and you always have been and you always will be. Thank you and I'm sorry and I love you so very much, dear Brother._

Edward was no stranger to pain.

He was accustomed to wounds.

But nothing – _nothing_ – could have prepared him for the searing, blinding, aching, burning, heart-wrenching _agony_ that tore through him when the black tendril scraped across Alphonse's blood seal, and the glowing red eyes darkened forever.

"AAAAAAAAAAAALLL!" Edward screamed at the top of his lungs, stretching the vowel out as long as possible, tearing it and wrenching it through his throat till _that_ was on fire, too. He had never known such pain could exist. Even ten automail surgeries stacked on top of each other could not compare to this pain, because this pain had nothing to do with blood or muscles or nerves or fevers. This wound had gone right through him and stabbed his heart, and it throbbed and ached and _burned_ with pain.

And Alphonse wasn't there to touch his cheek with a cool, comforting hand. Only the memory of his voice rang in Edward's ears. Alphonse was _gone._

Then Pride did the only kind thing he had ever done.

He broke Edward's neck.


	29. Existence

**Author's Note: This one might seem a little weird to people, but it stems from something I've struggled with (that's not exactly the right term) for most of my life. Since I practically live with my nose in a book, I've often had to consciously remind myself that all of this is actually **_**happening,**_** and I'm real. I thought it might be interesting to see how Ed and Al would deal with that.**

**Timeline: Postseries (as usual)**

**Theme 29: Existence**

"Am I real?"

Alphonse propped himself up on his elbows, looking over at his brother in surprise. Edward lay on his back next to him, eyes closed. The familiar thoughtful frown was in place, and his voice had taken on that hushed, private quality that signified his innermost thoughts and fears. His voice had sounded like that when he had asked, _Do you hate me, Al?_

Alphonse wondered why his brother, of all people, was asking this question. Usually it would have been _him_ asking the question, since he was, after all, the one who had lived for four years without a real body. Slowly, Alphonse lowered himself back down. "Yes, Brother. You're real."

Alphonse watched his brother carefully, and saw him open his eyes to look at the stars instead. "How can you be sure?"

A little unnerved, Alphonse turned to look at the sky as well. It was a warm, clear night, the kind that made the sky over Risenpool fairly seem to glow, inviting those sensitive to its call to come out and be a part of the night. As he had done from time to time over the years, Edward had suddenly sat up in bed and suggested in a whisper that they sneak outside. And, as always, Alphonse had agreed and followed him with a grin. The stars seemed so close, so bright, in Alphonse's newly-human gaze. His eyes passed from cluster to cluster, searching for the right words to say.

But after a minute or so of silence, Edward continued. "I mean, sure, this feels real to us, but what if it's not? What if we're just something someone's dreamed up? What if all of Amestris was just a figment of someone's imagination, or something in a book?" He raised his right arm and splayed his metal fingers against the stars. "What if we're not real?"

Alphonse rolled over onto his side so he could see Edward better and propped himself up on one elbow. "What have you been reading?"

Edward let out a soft chuckle and closed his eyes again, tucking both arms under his head. He was silent for a moment, then muttered, "Just a novel."

Alphonse frowned in confusion. "I thought you hated novels!"

Edward gave him a smile that only made him look sad. "I do, but it was the only thing in the room to distract me from the pain." Alphonse knew he was referring to the reattachment of his arm and leg. He had assumed the pain had been especially bad, but now Alphonse suspected he had just wanted to finish the book.

Edward was silent for a while longer. "It was pretty good, actually. Once I got into it, I sort of forgot about everything else. I felt like I was inside the pages, and then when I finished it…I don't know. It just felt…like I was living inside a book, and I don't care how silly that sounds."

"I've felt like that too, sometimes," Alphonse admitted, absently reaching out and rubbing a finger up and down Edward's arm, where the hair had begun to grow a little thicker than before. He knew it was a little odd, but ever since he had regained his body, he liked to just _touch_ Edward. It had become a habit, and thankfully Edward didn't mind.

"So what do you think?" Edward asked, bringing Alphonse's mind back to the present. "Is our existence just artificial?"

Alphonse stopped rubbing Edward's hairy arm and used his finger to turn Edward's head to face him. For the first time, Edward met his gaze. Alphonse held it for a moment, then asked, "Does it matter?"

Slowly, a smile found its way onto Edward's face, and he touched Alphonse's finger. "I guess not."


	30. Conversation

**Author's Note: I've always known what I was going to write for this theme. My brother and I are best friends, and there are many times when we finish each other's sentences or practically read each other's minds or communicate with nudges and looks and wiggling our fingers. (We have an unfair advantage if we're on the same team when we play charades XD) I figured it would probably be the same for the Elric brothers, seeing how close they are. Also, I once saw these two friends (or they might have been brothers) meeting each other in the airport, and they were so excited and happy to see each other that it made me smile. Those were the things that inspired this piece.**

**Timeline: Postseries**

**Theme 30: Conversation**

Winry Rockbell watched the Elric brothers with bemusement from her train seat across from them. They had been chattering away for the past half hour, and try as she might, Winry couldn't figure out what they were talking about. She didn't blame them for excluding her; after all, they had been apart for nearly a year, and there was a lot of catching up to do. She wouldn't be surprised if neither of them had even written a letter to each other in all that time.

After nearly four years reveling in his new body, Alphonse had decided that the time had come to pursue a goal he had held for many years, and become a State Alchemist. Since he had barely touched alchemy after receiving his real body, he had decided he needed to brush up on his skills, and had gone south to his teacher for a year. It had been an agonizing decision for them, but eventually Edward had seen that this was necessary – and, what was more, that he couldn't accompany his brother and keep his job at the same time. Winry had been there to see their farewell, and she had realized just how hard it was for them to part. They had clung to each other for the longest time, nearly making Alphonse miss his train. And when they were reunited at last, they had thumped each other on the back and given each other such wild hugs that one would have thought they had been apart for _ten_ years, rather than one.

A burst of laughter brought Winry back to the present, back to the train speeding on its way to Risenpool.

"And then he said-"

"No way! It's like-"

"I know! Exactly!"

Winry smiled at them. It was like they could read each other's mind; they knew exactly what they were going to say before it was said. Winry was an only child, so she could only wonder whether every sibling was like this. She had never _seen_ any siblings act like this, but you never knew. Winry contemplated the diamond ring on her finger and wondered if she would ever be able to read Edward like that. She rather doubted it; Edward was a very complex person, and even someone like her who had grown up with him could sometimes be at a loss.

Winry turned her attention back to the present. The brothers had fallen silent at last, chuckling to themselves. Alphonse had taken to running a finger along the wrinkles of Edward's pant leg, as she had seen him do many times since he had escaped the empty suit of armor. Normally, Edward would push Alphonse's hand away when they were in a public place, since it could be taken the wrong way. This time, however, he made no move to stop him; he had a smile on his face that suggested he had missed this embarrassing habit his little brother had.

"So, Winry," Alphonse said, looking up at last. "How have you been? I guess I should congratulate you," he added before she could reply, gesturing to the matching rings on her and Edward's fingers.

As Edward grinned somewhat sheepishly, a faint blush rising in his cheeks, Winry smiled and glanced over at Alphonse, who gave his brother a knowing look that spoke more words than Winry could read. And Winry had a thought that didn't really make her sad – not quite: Edward and Alphonse had to resort to words while speaking to her, but they could make an entire conversation between themselves using only looks.


	31. Home Cooking

**Author's Note: This was one of the easiest themes I've come across so far; as soon as I saw it, I knew what I was going to write. It also helps that I'd been eating apple-pie-flavored oatmeal for breakfast.**

**Timeline: Postseries**

**Theme 31: Home cooking**

"When…do I…get…to eat…Brother?" Al asked in his fumbling, halting way. He had only had a tongue for forty-eight hours, and most of that time he had been asleep anyway, so he was having a little trouble getting his mouth to work properly. The part of Edward's mind that wasn't elated to hear his little brother's voice free of that horrible echo was a little concerned. Would Alphonse always talk like this, lisping and halting and stumbling over his words? Was it his, Edward's fault? Had he messed up somehow with the most important transmutation of his entire life?

Edward wrenched his mind back to the present and let the fond smile he had been wearing on and off ever since Alphonse had first opened his eyes creep back across his face. "Soon. They want to keep you on IVs for now. You nearly starved, you know." Guilt clawed at him again. He should have eaten better, all those years. He should have eaten more vegetables, passed on the ice cream a few more times, forced himself to drink the ghastly poison called milk every now and then. Maybe then his brother's body would be in better shape.

"Brothbrr," Alphonse tried to say, his tongue flopping clumsily in the second half of the word. He fell silent, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink as he fell silent and jerkily extended his hand instead.

Edward grasped Alphonse's hand and held it tight, discovering for what had to be the tenth time that he had no words to express the sheer joy he felt. After a few silent moments of letting himself revel in that joy, he managed to choke out, "Wh-What do you want to eat first?"

Alphonse lay there, his eyes shining, for a long while before he collected himself enough to clumsily say, "Pie."

"Pie, huh? Sure you don't want tofu?" Edward teased.

And then, the most wonderful thing in the world happened: Alphonse laughed – the rich bubbling laugh Edward remembered from their childhood. Edward's heart leapt into his throat as he realized Alphonse had probably been unable to laugh like that when he was a suit of armor, which would explain why his laughter had always been somewhat strained and forced. But now he had his throat back, and now he could really laugh.

It was only now that Edward realized the staggering amount of things he had missed about his brother without realizing it.

Squeezing the limp hand in his grasp, Edward said, "Okay, pie it is. Homemade pie; none of that store-bought junk. Any preference for what kind?"

Alphonse opened his mouth and tried to force out the word, but it became mangled – Edward couldn't be sure whether it was from clumsiness or emotion. "A-haaa-ap-" He choked on the word and his voice died away. With obvious effort, he turned his head away.

But Edward had already seen the frustrated tears spring into his silver eyes. Edward got up from his chair by Alphonse's hospital bed and put his arms around his little brother, mindful of the various tubes pumping life into that precious body. "Apple?" he murmured, feeling Alphonse quivering in his arms. "You want apple pie? I'll get you the best apple pie you've ever tasted, little brother. If I have to spoon-feed you myself, I'll-" His voice caught, and he had to stop there.

"Thank…you…so…much…."

* * *

Edward was more relieved than he hoped was obvious when Alphonse spoke much more clearly every day. The doctor maintained that he was still too weak to get up and attempt to walk, but by the end of the week Alphonse could speak normally, and was working on the dexterity of his fingers.

On the third day, the nurse let him have a drink. When she advanced with the little cup of water, Alphonse flopped his head from side to side clumsily. "Brother."

Understanding immediately, Edward stood up and explained, "He wants me to do it." His heart pounded and his hands trembled as he carefully took the cup from her, as if it was some priceless substance rather than plain old water. This would be the first thing that passed Alphonse's lips in four years. With the utmost care, he put the cup to Alphonse's lips and tipped the water into his mouth. Alphonse slowly drank, his eyes closed and the most serene expression Edward had ever seen on his face. He sat perfectly motionless except for his Adam's apple bobbing up and down every now and then. When all the water was gone, Alphonse opened his eyes, and they sparkled with tears, as if the water had gone up there instead of down to his stomach. He took a shuddering breath and whispered, "I've…never…tasted…anything…so good."

The blissful smile on his face convinced Edward that the first thing he ate would have to be perfect.

At the end of the week, Edward decided he should probably call his superior officer. While Alphonse dozed off in one of his many naps, Edward snuck out to the pay phone.

"So, Full Metal," Mustang said by way of greeting, "you finally deigned to call me? I was about to send out a search party; I was going to tell them, 'Look high and low – especially low.'"

It was a mark of the euphoria Edward lived in that he only said, "Shut up, idiot Colonel."

"That's Idiot _General_ to you, pipsqueak."

"So you got promoted, huh?"

"Listen, Edward," Mustang cut in, his voice suddenly serious. "I'm glad you called; I – we were worried about you two." There was a pregnant pause, then, "How…How is your brother doing?"

Edward grinned at this, even though he knew Mustang couldn't see. "I don't know. Why don't you come to the hospital and see? But you'd better hurry; he's ready to jump out of bed any day now and start walking; once he does that, I doubt he'll want to hang around old fogies like you."

Mustang was silent for a moment, then he said in a choked voice, "We'll be over there within the hour."

And they were. Edward looked on rather proudly as his six military comrades filed in and, one by one, stared in amazement at the strange boy sitting in the bed before them. "Hi, everybody!" Alphonse called out cheerfully. Suddenly everyone's doubt was stripped away, and they crowded around the boy they had only known as a suit of armor.

Edward found himself standing next to his superior officer. "So…what do you think?" he asked, more anxious than he had expected to be.

Mustang turned to him, his face radiant with admiration. "He's…perfect."

Edward's heart soared.

* * *

While Mustang and his subordinates had Alphonse occupied, Edward hurried along the streets to a little yellow house not far from the hospital. "Edward!" Gracia exclaimed in delighted surprise when she opened the door. "What are you doing here?"

"Mrs. Hughes," Edward said without preamble. "I need to bake an apple pie, but I need your help because I've never cooked anything before."

If Gracia was surprised at his demand, she didn't show it. "We'd better get started, then," she said very seriously, leading him into the kitchen.

Gracia sat down at the kitchen table and directed him, sending him rushing around to make the crust, cut the apples…. She didn't ask him why this was so important to him, but once the pie was in the oven Edward began to explain. As he put away the ingredients and began cleaning up the mess he had made, he filled her in on everything.

"I'm so happy for you both," Gracia said as she pulled out the deliciously brown pie and set it down to cool a little. "You'll have to come for dinner sometime. We could have a party."

"Yay, a party!" Elysia, who had come down some time ago, laughed.

"Thanks, Mrs. Hughes," Edward said with a grin. He took a deep breath, smelling the delicious mixture of fresh pastry and cinnamon. "Al's going to love this."

A few minutes later, Edward made his way back to the hospital, his precious prize clutched close. He came to the room just as everyone else was leaving. Mustang hung back just long enough to say fervently, "You're getting a promotion if it costs me my career, Edward." Then he was gone.

Edward grinned at Alphonse as he came through the door.

"Where were you?" Alphonse asked curiously.

"To get you this," Edward replied, holding out the box he held in his arms. He set it on Alphonse's lap and proudly pulled off the top. The smell of newly-baked and still-warm pie filled the room, and Alphonse's face went slack as he took this new sensation in. "I made it myself," Edward said softly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "The doctor said you can starting eating things now, but he wants you to start with soft foods, like rice and oatmeal and stuff. So…." Edward pulled out the plates and silverware Gracia had put in the box as well. He put a slice of pie on one plate, grabbed a spoon, and began to mash the pie vigorously.

Alphonse watched wordlessly until the slice of pie was nothing but a mushy blob. He looked frozen as Edward lifted a spoonful of the mashed pie and slid it into Alphonse's mouth. Alphonse's eyes grew wide and his breath caught. He just sat there for a long time, tasting the pie, his eyes filling with tears. Finally his mouth worked and he swallowed, then turned to look up at his older brother. "That was…."

"Yep," Edward said with a grin. "That was real home cooking."


	32. Shirt

**Author's Note: Happy FMA Day, everyone! It's October 3rd, and in celebration I'm going to put up three chapters today. Enjoy!**

**I really don't know where this came from. It's such a random theme to start with; I think I mainly just started imagining what would happen if Hohenheim came across one of Ed's shirts, and the story built up from there. I think it would probably also have been influenced by the manga Chapter 85 and my love of manga!Hoho.**

**Timeline: Postseries (manga)**

**Theme 32: Shirt**

Hohenheim stepped out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist. He reached for his neat little pile of clothes, then glanced across the room and paused. The bed on the other side of the room, which had held a slumbering boy when Hohenheim had entered the bathroom, now lay vacant, the bedsheets crumpled and unmade. The drawers of the bureau were all open, hanging lopsided like detached limbs. Every drawer was empty, and a small mound of discarded underpants lay on the floor, looking up at him blankly as if asking bluntly, _What?_

Hohenheim sighed and got dressed, then moved over to tidy up the other half of the room. His son had always been an untidy individual, but for the past three months it seemed he never even _tried _to stay neat. Dropping a plate of food or a glass of water and not even bothering to clean up…standing under the shower when Hohenheim insisted, but never picking up the bar of soap or bottle of shampoo….

Under the pile of dirty clothes, a book lay, face-down, on the floor. Hohenheim tossed the clothes into the hamper and picked up the book, clicking his tongue reprovingly when he saw that some of the pages were bent. He was a little dismayed at this; normally, his son treated books with something close to reverence, as they housed the greatest knowledge in the world. Was he regressing? Was it getting out of his hands? Hohenheim didn't want to send his son away to some place with white halls and cold, blank-faced doctors who prescribed tranquilizers and electrotherapy and who _knew_ what else. His place was here.

Hohenheim stopped his desperate, angry thoughts. There was no one to argue with except himself. He carefully closed the book, and only then did he realize what it was: Hansel and Gretel. Hohenheim quirked an eyebrow at the cover. What had his sixteen-year-old son been doing with a children's picture book? Where had this book even _come_ from? Hohenheim flipped through the little book absently, then stopped on page seven. There was a little watercolor illustration of a boy walking into the woods, looking back at a snug little cottage. He was holding his hand out behind him, and a thin trail of breadcrumbs stretched out behind him. Someone had drawn on the picture, scribbling in black pen. Now a braid hung down Hansel's back, and his bangs were longer, and the cross-and-serpent emblem of alchemy had been drawn on his back. Hansel's father, the woodcutter, also sported a new hairdo, his hair falling down in a ponytail, and he had a little beard on his previously clean-shaven chin. Glasses also perched on his nose.

Hohenheim's heart sank like a stone. Little as he wished to think his only son was going mad, he could see little other explanation for these actions. Troubled, he looked up from the book to the messy room. His eyes fell upon his son's sweaty pajama shirt, discarded in the doorway. Sighing, he put the book back up on the shelf over his son's bed and crossed the room to pick up the shirt.

As soon as Hohenheim straightened up with the sweaty shirt in his hands, he spotted another shirt halfway down the hall. It was the black dress shirt Hohenheim had bought for his son three months ago. He had only worn it once.

Feeling old and tired, Hohenheim strode down the hallway and picked up that shirt as well. He remembered how his son had only worn that shirt for five hours; when they had finally come home, his son had raced up to his room before Hohenheim had even closed the front door. Hohenheim had raced after him to find him ripping his clothes off as fast as he could, as if they were leeches sucking out his very life. Then he had collapsed, naked and sobbing, into bed. He had covered himself with the blankets before Hohenheim could even say his name.

Hohenheim sadly picked up the shirt, fingering the empty places where the shiny black buttons had been torn off. Maybe his son had tried to put it on, then thrown it to the floor when he had realized there were several buttons missing. Then Hohenheim noticed a third shirt spilling over the top of the stairs. Hohenheim crossed over to it, feeling slightly irritated at the careless nature of his son. This shirt was a loose, white one, the one he had worn for his last tune-up. He probably would never have bothered about his battered arm, had Hohenheim not insisted and dragged him to the Rockbells himself.

Hohenheim looked down the stairs and dropped the shirts he was carrying onto his feet. Discarded shirts lay scattered in a straggling line down the stairs and across the floor. Hohenheim stared. _Breadcrumbs._

Hohenheim followed the trail of shirts, first slowly, then picking up speed. He marveled at how many shirts he saw; he had never even suspected his son had so many. There was the shirt he had used for exercise and sparring, before he had lost interest three months ago. There was the never-worn shirt of his brand-new military uniform. There was the T-shirt with the cute little cat on the front he had seen in a shop window and instantly bought. Hohenheim had found it under his son's pillow the next morning, covered in tear marks and indistinguishable stains. Hohenheim remembered then how his son had bought a shirt every time Hohenheim had tried to cheer him up by taking him into town. Had he done that for this very purpose?

A bright green T-shirt emblazoned with 'Vertically Challenged' had been stuffed into the hinge of the door like a doorstop. Hohenheim remembered how his son had chased Winry Rockbell around after she had given it to him for his last birthday, four months ago. Hohenheim smiled a brief, sad smile. How lively his son had been until….

But now his son was silent; he hadn't spoken a word since that horrible day three months ago, when his final scream had seemed to silence him forever. His eyes, once so bright and alive with golden fire, had turned glassy and dull three months ago. He never smiled, never laughed, never yelled his head off at his old man. He just sat and stared and sometimes when he thought Hohenheim wasn't looking, he cried.

Hohenheim wanted his real son back, the one who punched him and shouted at him for leaving his family. He wanted to see the boy who reminded him _so much_ of himself, with that subtle touch of Trisha. He had been trying for three solid months to salvage that boy, but Hohenheim was afraid it was already too late. That boy was dead, swallowed by the disaster, the tragedy. Hohenheim bent down and looked closer at the shirt in the middle of the yard. It was considerably smaller than the other ones. When Hohenheim picked it up to get a better look, he saw the name on the tag: Alphonse.

Hohenheim's breath caught in his chest and warm tears smarted against his eyes. That name was never spoken in their presence. Hohenheim maintained that it would devastate his son, but he acknowledged now that it would be the same for him. He had hardly gotten to know his younger son again, when he was snatched away forever. Alphonse had been hardly more than a baby when Hohenheim had left, and seeing him again had…. And Alphonse had believed him, accepted him unconditionally. He had so much of Trisha in him that it made his old heart ache.

Hohenheim took off his glasses and wiped his eyes. The loss of his younger son was like a knife in his chest, but he knew it was ten times worse for his older son. The brothers had been together for their whole lives; even in their early childhood they had usually gotten along pretty well. After the loss of both their parents (he cursed himself), they had been an entire family to each other. With Alphonse gone, Edward was barely half of himself. Hohenheim tried his hardest to help Edward, to soothe his pain and make him heal, but every time he reached out Edward jerked away, his gestures making it plain that he didn't want any help. Hohenheim had a feeling that Alphonse would have known what to do, but he didn't know his older son. He had been gone for too long, and he was at a loss. He was perpetually afraid that he would make a mistake, and Edward would end up worse than ever.

When Hohenheim pushed his glasses back up his nose, he saw something dangling from the tree in the yard. The trail of shirts led right up to the tree. Hohenheim squinted into the rising sun…and gasped. He remained frozen for an instant as horrible as the day Xerxes collapsed, then raced forward as fast as his legs could move.

Hohenheim skidded to a halt under the tree and stared up at the thing dangling from the tree, his heart thudding with…relief. An alchemized dummy of a human body swung gently in the wind, hanging from a stout branch with a noose made from scraps of cloth that Hohenheim suspected came from the ripped-up shreds of shirts. Hohenheim let out his breath slowly, allowing his heart to resume its normal pace.

"Father…."

Hohenheim stiffened in surprise. He knew that voice very well, but he had never heard it like this. He knew it as being strong, firm, determined. Never as weak and plaintive as this voice. Hohenheim walked around the trunk of the tree, half-expecting to see a strange boy with Edward's voice sitting there. But it was only Edward, sitting in his faded pajama pants, the ones that were an inch too short and were covered with snowflakes even though it was summer. His chest was bare to the world, and Hohenheim winced inwardly to see the numerous scars littering his son's – his baby's – chest. The automail arm clamped onto his shoulder like a metallic parasite.

"Father," Edward murmured again, hugging his snowflake-covered knees against his bare chest. And Hohenheim could say nothing, because he had never heard that word coming from those lips. Before Hohenheim had left, his sons had called him 'Papa.' The mature Alphonse had called him 'Dad,' and the rather immature Edward had kept it at 'hey you.' And now his son, his hard-headed, belligerent son, was calling him 'Father.' It was the first word he had spoken in three months.

Edward lifted his face to his father, and Hohenheim noted two faint traces of tears running down his cheeks. Edward lifted his arms, like a toddler begging to be picked up, and revealed the insides of his arms. Hohenheim's breath caught again, and he found a sob escaping his mouth as he saw a dozen old scars crisscrossing Edward's left arm. Scars that had not been there three months ago. Hohenheim sank to his knees next to his son. He couldn't seem to take his eyes off those ugly red marks made by his very own razor blade.

Edward looked up at him, asking, pleading, _begging._ "Help me."


	33. A Walk

**Author's Note: At first I accidentally passed this theme over. It was only when I was looking back and saw that Chapter 33 was missing that I realized I still had to write this one. It seems like kind of a boring theme at first glance, but as I started thinking it got more interesting. I remembered this story I'd heard one time about a man walking along a beach with Jesus. He looks back and sees their footprints, but sometimes there's only one set of footprints. When he asks about it, Jesus says, "Those were the times I carried you in my arms." And, bizarrely, that story morphed into this one. I kind of like it.**

**Timeline: Postseries**

**Theme 33: A walk**

Alphonse slowly became aware of where he was. He didn't know how long he had been awake, for his consciousness faded gradually back into the blank stretch of time between now and when he had fallen asleep. He looked around and got his bearings. The river that sat a mere foot from him had frozen solid, and the line of snow-covered trees came right up to the other side. Their bare branches were covered again, this time with heavy white lumps rather than thin, delicate leaves. Snow coated the hills all around in an even blanket, mirroring the white sky overhead. The sun was invisible in all this whiteness, but it had to be somewhere to light everything up like this.

There was no sound. Either that, or it was so muffled by all the snow that it was like wearing earmuffs that couldn't be felt. As Alphonse looked around at the uniform whiteness, he thought to himself that it looked rather like that odd void where the Gate stood. White, silent, without feeling. He almost expected to see those ornately carved doors. Slowly letting out his breath to calm himself, Alphonse saw to his surprise that it became a cloud in the air.

It was only then that he realized how cold it was. The air itself seemed frozen, and Alphonse shivered, realizing just how cold it would have to be for the river to freeze solid like that. He kept on shivering, and looked down at himself to find that he was dressed in nothing but his thin snowman pajamas, which did little to keep out the chill. His feet were bare, standing in the snow and looking almost blue with cold. He tried wiggling his toes, and they barely obeyed him. They felt like numb blocks of ice. Hugging himself in a vain attempt at keeping in his body warmth, Alphonse looked around, feeling a little lost even though he knew exactly where he was. How had he gotten out here like this? Why couldn't he remember?

Then Alphonse turned and saw, trailing behind him as far as he could see, a line of footprints in the newly-fallen snow. "How did I get here?" he asked the still air, his voice sounding quiet and hushed in all the stillness.

"You took a walk in your sleep, of course," said a voice by his ear.

Alphonse turned to the voice and discovered he wasn't surprised to see his brother standing there, even though he was sure he had been alone a moment before. Edward stood in his usual black clothes, wrapped in his red coat and not looking cold in the slightest. Somehow, the sight of him made Alphonse shiver even more. "I never sleepwalk," he finally said, teeth chattering.

"There's a first time for everything, I suppose," Edward said calmly. "Come on, we'd better get back before you get frostbite or something."

They turned around and walked along the trail of footprints together, Alphonse moving his leaden feet clumsily through the snow. He could see his footprints wending their way over two smaller hills before climbing up to the little yellow house on the ridge. It seemed so far away, but Alphonse plodded on, knowing that a warm house and a mug of hot chocolate were waiting for him. As they walked, Alphonse gradually noticed that some of the time his footprints continued on alone, but most of the time there were two sets of footprints. A sudden thought occurred to him. "Brother…" he murmured. "Were you walking with me?"

Edward smiled. "Course I was. I couldn't let you walk alone, could I?"

Somehow, the way he said it got Alphonse thinking. This trail of footprints was a bit like his life. His journey had begun up on that hill with a transmutation, and it had carried on, winding and sometimes swerving erratically, all the way to where he was now. And through it all, his brother had been there for him. Edward had always stood by him, supported him, been there for him when he needed it. But something bothered him.

Alphonse slowly came to a stop, and Edward crunched to a halt beside him, looking over questioningly. "Mostly there's two sets of footprints," Alphonse said softly, staring along the line of marks in the snow. "But then sometimes there's only one." He turned his gaze from a lonely stretch of a single set of footprints to his brother's eyes. Questioning.

Edward stepped a little closer, the warmth in his eyes trickling over Alphonse's cold body. "Those were the times I carried you," he murmured, pulling off his coat and wrapping it around Alphonse's shoulders.

The warmth enveloped Alphonse, and he buried his nose in the cloth, closing his eyes and breathing in deep. The coat was warm from Edward's body heat, and his smell lingered about it. Like books and sweat and metal. Even his smells seemed to be warm. Alphonse let a smile creep across his face and whispered, "My feet are still cold."

"That's what you get for not wearing socks, silly."

Alphonse opened his eyes to find himself looking up at his brother's face. Blinking, Alphonse looked around in confusion. He lay in his bed in the room he shared with his brother. The blankets had fallen off his bed onto the floor, but Edward stood over him, one hand still tucking the warm blue blanket around Alphonse's bare feet. Alphonse inhaled the scent of the blanket and knew that it was Edward's.

Edward stood, wearing the pajamas that Alphonse had given him for his last birthday, which were coated with kittens gamboling about. (Edward had grumbled that Alphonse was trying to give him subliminal messages, but they still seemed to be his favorite pajamas.) For a moment, the brothers remained as they were, Alphonse thinking of the dream he had just had, Edward drinking in his little brother's human face as he did every morning, as though he couldn't quite believe it hadn't all been just a dream.

Then the moment was broken – Alphonse sat up rubbing his eyes, and Edward grinned all over. "It snowed last night!" he enthused, racing over to the window and pressing his nose against the glass like a little boy.

Alphonse smiled to himself and joined his brother at the window a little more sedately, clutching the blanket around himself like a cloak.

"Hey look, there's footprints!" Edward pointed to a line of blemishes in the perfect, pristine blanket. He squinted through the glass that had fogged up with his breath. "Looks like two pairs."

Alphonse's eyes widened as he slowly looked from the footprints outside to his brother's curious face. Then, irresistibly, he began to laugh.

Edward was never able to figure out why.


	34. Telephone

**Author's Note: When I first saw the theme, I thought of what most people probably end up writing for it: a phone conversation. But then I decided to have a bit of fun and thought of what other things 'telephone' could refer to. And I remembered the game called Telephone. This is me having fun being silly.**

**Timeline: Midseries**

**Theme 34: Telephone**

Edward Elric let out another sigh, fidgeting around on his hard train seat. His brother Alphonse looked away from his hands folded neatly in his lap. "What's wrong?"

Edward put on his most pitiful expression, and if Alphonse hadn't known him better, he would have thought Edward had a stomachache or something. "I'm bored."

"Well, why don't you work on that report for Mustang?" Alphonse suggested brightly, even though he knew what his brother's answer would be.

"Nah, already finished it."

Alphonse narrowed his eyes sternly. "You wrote half a page."

"So it was a short mission! So what?" Edward huffed, pointedly looking out the window.

Alphonse shook his head helplessly. "Why don't you eat something?"

"I already ate four of those sticky rolls you bought," Edward snapped. "That's more than your share and my share combined. You want me to get 'short and stout' or something? Well, I'm not going to be a teapot, so there!"

"I wasn't saying- Oh, never mind!" Alphonse knew better than to try to reason with Edward when he was in that kind of mood. Trains just seemed to make him grouchy for some reason, though Alphonse always thought train rides were rather fun. Well, maybe Edward just got tired of them; the brothers _did_ seem to travel a lot.

"I'm still bored," Edward announced, as if afraid his little brother would forget.

"Then take a nap," Alphonse suggested. "You always like naps."

"Hardy har har." Edward lay down all the same, closed his eyes, and proceeded to fidget while trying to find a comfortable position.

Alphonse watched this performance bemusedly for fifteen minutes, then sighed and said, "You're being really obvious, Brother. Come on." He patted his knee with a dull metallic bang.

Edward had the decency to blush as he crossed over to lay down next to his brother. Somehow, he only seemed to be able to sleep when he had some kind of pillow, whether it was a real feather pillow or a makeshift one made of a stack of books. Or a thigh made of cold, smooth steel.

"Al, your knee's too sharp!"

"Well, I can't do anything about that, can I?"

"Your leg's so hard; it's gonna give me a stiff neck!"

"It's no one's fault but your own."

"Do you know how painful a stiff neck is?"

"Actually, I don't; I haven't had a stiff neck for four years, if you'll remember."

"Gonna pull that one on me, are you?"

They bickered back and forth for a little while, until Edward finally gave up trying to sleep and returned to his seat. Silence reigned for several more minutes until Alphonse spoke up. "Wanna play a game?"

"Sure, like what?"

"Oh, I dunno. Poker?"

Poker was one of Edward's favorite games, so Alphonse was surprised when Edward shrugged and said, "Nah. I got bored with it on the way down."

Alphonse had to admit, they _had_ played poker quite a bit in the past few days. "How about blackjack?"

"No way, Al! When you slap on top of me, you break all my fingers, so what's the point of even winning?"

"What about hearts?"

"No."

"Spit?"

"Nope."

"Liar?"

"Nah."

"War?"

"That's about the dumbest game ever invented."

"Okay, then what do _you_ want to play?" Alphonse was beginning to get more than a little exasperated; this behavior was bad even for Edward.

"Telephone," Edward said promptly. "You know, that game where you whisper a message into people's ears and the message gets all garbled by the end."

"You can't play Telephone with only two people," Alphonse pointed out.

"Oh, yes you can!"

"But the message won't get confused at all between you and me!"

"Of course it will!" Edward frowned stubbornly. "I can't understand a thing you say when you're whispering, with that echoey voice of yours! Unless you say something dumb like 'Kitties are quite cute.'"

The brothers launched into a new argument, one that lasted nearly half an hour. Somehow, they moved from fighting about games to the way they looked when they were running. It was a good thing their train car was empty, or their ever-rising voices would certainly have disturbed their fellow passengers. Finally the argument degenerated into yells of "Fine!" that shot back and forth so fiercely they barely heard the conductor call out, "East City Station!"

"Hey, that's us!" Edward, who had been scowling murderously in his seat a moment before, sprang to his feet with a grin on his face as if they had never argued at all. "C'mon, Al!" he cried as he led the way off the train. "Man, I can't believe my plan actually worked!"

Alphonse froze in the act of clambering down onto the platform. "Wait. You mean you were planning this whole thing out just to pass the time?" He looked up and saw Edward skipping away, laughing and drawing many strange looks. "Brother!"

**Happy FMA Day, everyone ^_^**


	35. Letter

**Author's Note: Pretty straightforward theme; I just had to figure out why Ed and Al would be separated to warrant a letter. Then I read a Royai fic that consisted of a cheerful letter from Mustang to Hawkeye. I wouldn't have thought much of the fic, had it not been for the postscript. That simple postscript changed the whole nature of the fic, so I tried to do something similar with this.**

**Timeline: Postseries**

**Theme 35: Letter**

Dear Alphonse,

How's it going? You'll be happy to hear that I've been a lot better recently. Not completely recovered, but I'm getting there. I'll be returning to full duty next week; that idiot Mustang called me yesterday to gloat over the mountain of paperwork piled up for me. Okay, that's a bit of an exaggeration; he mainly just joked about missing me because of all the paperwork I can tear through when I've a mind to. I swear, Mustang's only gotten more annoying since becoming Fuhrer.

Oh, I almost forgot! Mustang had an inspection of the East a while back, so on his way back to Central he stopped by to see us. Of course he had to bring the whole family with him. Little Maes is pretty cute, I have to admit, though I think it's _despite_ his father. At least he has his mother's eyes, I say. And he's got such good manners it's almost scary; I guess that's the result of Mrs. Mustang's discipline. She's a great friend and all, but I sure wouldn't want _her_ for a mother!

I guess I never really said it, but I'm really glad you could be best man in my wedding last year. When I look at the wedding pictures, all I can think of is how you started crying even before Winry did. We've got a picture of that, you know. You look like Dad.

Anyway, Winry and I have had some rough spots, and I guess it's obvious why. It's…been stressful, but I think we're doing better now. We just found out that Winry's pregnant. Isn't that amazing? Soon I'm going to be a dad, and since I never really had a role model, I'm just going to have to figure it out myself as I go along. I wish you could be here when the baby's born. I know you love babies, and it would be all the better because it would be your niece or nephew. I wonder which one it'll be.

If it's a boy I'm going to name him Alphonse.

I hope you're happy, and I want you to know that I love you, little brother.

Miss you,

Edward

* * *

_Edward Elric licked the envelope closed, then left his study and went to the front door. When he opened it, Winry immediately appeared in a doorway. "Where are you going?" she asked with a hint of suspicion and fear. Old habits die hard, and even though she didn't have to worry anymore, she still did._

"_Going for a walk," he said, waving the envelope._

_Winry's worried expression cleared. "Well, don't be too long! I was going to make some tea."_

"_Right." Edward gave her a reassuring smile, then stepped out into the dazzling summer afternoon. He walked briskly out of sight, keeping his hands in his pockets and whistling cheerfully just in case Winry was watching, until he was out of sight of the house._

_But Edward didn't make his way downhill to the village post office. Instead, he set off up a path his feet had pounded many times before. It was a beautiful day; the birds were chirping, the flowers nodding genially at him as he passed. The whole world seemed full of life, warmth, and happiness._

_The letter in Edward's hand felt cold._

_Edward soon reached his destination, where Alphonse dwelt at the top of a grassy hill. He knelt down and placed the letter on top of all the other letters he had written. Winry had worried so much when he had started writing those letters; he remembered how much she had cried. Edward's sleeve slipped up a little as he stretched his arm out, and when he caught a glimpse of the scar on his wrist, he supposed she had been right to worry._

_But he was okay now. The tranquilizers worked. And he didn't want to cut himself anymore, not when he had a daughter or son on the way. He had promised himself, long ago, that he would be there for his children, that he would be a better father than the one he had had himself. Winry didn't have to worry about him killing himself anymore._

_But that didn't stop him from wanting to be dead, because then he could be with his little brother._


	36. Dog

**Author's Note: Thinking of dogs naturally makes me think of cats, and when I'm also thinking about the Elric brothers and this fanfic series, it makes me think of cute little Wobbles. Though short, this is one of the few happy fics in this series, so treasure it while you can :P  
**

**Timeline: Sometime after "Store-lined Streets"**

**Theme 36: Dog**

The Elric brothers had established a compromise. Whenever they went on their weekly shopping trip, they would spend half an hour in the pet shop – on the condition that they didn't buy any of the animals. When Alphonse went into the store with this in mind, he could walk away without begging to buy them all. After all, they already had Wobbles (_Stupidest name for a cat I ever heard,_ Edward thought.), and they couldn't easily afford to keep any more animals.

Mr. Plumber, the owner of the pet shop where they had bought Wobbles, had grown used to them, even become something of a friend. He always had a bag of cat food ready for them, and let them take some of the animals out of the cages. Each week, Alphonse picked a different kind of animal, and spent the half hour happily playing with and petting them.

This week it was puppies. Alphonse sat happily on the floor, playing tug-of-war with a glossy cocker spaniel. Its little tail wagged frantically as it growled around the rawhide toy. Then Alphonse let go and laughed as it frolicked around.

Edward sat petting a black puppy fast asleep in his lap; he had worn it out earlier by chasing it around the shop on hands and knees. He was just glad that Mustang didn't know about these trips to the pet shop, or he'd never live it down. "Say, Al," Edward said as they watched the cocker spaniel chasing its tail. "How come you never ask to get a dog?"

"Huh?" Alphonse looked up in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"You're always asking me to get another cat, but you never ask for a dog. Why not? They're just as cute as cats, and they're a lot friendlier too. You can train them to fetch and do tricks and even sniff out criminals!"

Alphonse frowned thoughtfully as he watched the puppy sniffing around curiously. "I like dogs too, but cats…. I don't know. They're soft and quiet, and they purr too!" He got the sappy look in his eyes he always got when talking about cute things and Edward began to regret his question. "And I don't think Wobbles would like a dog."

The two gently picked up the puppies and set them into their cage, the thirty minutes drawing to a close. "Besides," Alphonse added as Edward shut the door, "I've already got a dog."

Edward let out a bark of a laugh as he pulled out his pocketwatch to check the time.


	37. Match

**Author's Note: At first I was clueless. What in the world could I write for this theme? The obvious first impression (to me, anyway) of the theme is "matching things", so I decided to look at it a different way. What could the Elric brothers do with matches? Well, that's easy. They burned their bloody house, didn't they? Oh, and this has to be mangaverse, because in the manga they burn the house _after_ Ed becomes a State Alchemist, whereas in the anime they burn their house before that.**

**Timeline: Shortly after Ed becomes a State Alchemist**

**Theme 37: Match**

Edward Elric stood in the center of his old room, the bedroom he had shared with his little brother ever since Alphonse had been born. Many months had passed since he had set foot in here; now the whole house had a dreadful, musty smell that was so unfamiliar it was almost frightening. When their mother had been alive, the whole house had smelled fresh and airy, like a bouquet of flowers. Even after he and Alphonse had left it empty for their alchemy training, it hadn't smelled this bad. The house had never really been aired out since they returned from training; they had been too busy with their research notes and theorems. And then, after the _incident,_ Edward had been bedridden and everyone had been too preoccupied with him and his automail surgery to bother about airing out a house no one lived in.

Edward looked around the room one last time, taking in their unmade beds, the clothes strewn about the floor, the toys they hadn't touched in years hidden away out of sight in the toy chest. He glanced again at the clothes on the floor and felt a pang as he recognized Alphonse's dancing cow pajamas. They were the last ones Alphonse had ever worn, thrown off in haste as the brothers rushed back to their research, nearly completed. Edward had always thought dancing cows were the dumbest things anyone could put on pajamas, but now he wished he could just see Alphonse in those tatty pajamas again.

Finally Edward managed to wrench himself away from the room, and proceeded down the stairs. They had made up their minds to do this, but Edward had insisted on looking through the whole house one more time, to cement its image permanently in their minds. Edward was sure that he wanted to burn their house to the ground so they would have nothing to come back to. But he wanted to hold this day in his memory for as long as he lived.

At the foot of the stairs, Edward turned around slowly. Where hadn't he gone yet? He had already gone through the kitchen, the living room, even the tiny bathroom with only space enough for a toilet…. Then he bit his lip as dread welled up inside him. There was one room he hadn't visited yet. One he hadn't entered in over a year. Steeling his resolve, he walked down the hallway and opened the door at the very end.

The smell of blood and decay accosted his nostrils before his eyes had even adjusted to the gloom of the darkened room. Edward took a faltering step inside, but then his eyes alighted on a huge dark stain on the floor and his legs gave out. He slumped to the floor on hands and knees, trembling all over and breathing in that horrible scent. His mind whirled, and for a moment or two he thought he was back again to that terrifying night. He felt the pain biting at his arm and leg, felt the guilt stabbing at his gut, felt the desperation hammering at his heart.

The ghosts of his cries wafted back to his ears: _This wasn't supposed to.... Give him back.... My leg, my arms, my heart.... Just give him back...._

"He's my brother," Edward whispered. "The only little brother I've got. I'll trade anything and everything I've got, if he can just be whole again...." He desperately gulped in air, trying to calm his racing heart. They were going to be all right. They would find a way to restore their bodies. They had to.

Slowly, Edward picked himself off the floor and passed a hand over his face. He couldn't tell whether the moisture was sweat or tears. Taking a deep, shaky breath, he squared his shoulders and made his way outside. The sun was setting the distant hills on fire, reminding Edward of the task he had set his little brother. Looking around, he easily located the gigantic suit of armor, hunched over on his knees close to the front door.

Edward drew nearer, wondering why Alphonse hadn't lit the torch yet, but when he came closer he understood. Alphonse held the tiny box of matches in his enormous gauntlets, valiantly trying to grasp one with his clumsy fingers. Match after broken match lay strewn about him, evidence of his many failed attempts. Even as Edward watched, Alphonse held a match carefully in his fingers and tried to draw it across the scratchy side of the box, but it snapped in his hands.

As Alphonse doggedly went for another one, Edward realized that he was making tiny sniffling sounds, as if he was crying. Edward bit his lip, torn to see his little brother so desperately trying to cry out his frustration. And it wasn't just the frustration at not being able to light a match, he knew. It was everything that had happened since that awful night a year ago, all the tears he would have shed had he been able to – tears of pain and fear and loneliness, tears of worry over his brother, tears of terror that he might have to stay like that forever and ever. But he couldn't shed those tears bottled up inside him. He could only pretend.

Wordlessly, Edward knelt down and laid his automail hand on Alphonse's frustrated fingers grasping a matchstick. Alphonse froze and stopped making the crying sounds. Edward gently eased the match out of his little brother's hand and struck it against the side of the box; it flared to life, and he swiftly lit the torch before it went out. Then he stepped forward and set fire to their house. The flames licked hungrily up the sides, eating away at the house as if it was made of gingerbread.

When the flames were high and steady, Edward stepped back to his brother's side. The two of them stood watching their house, their one and only home, burn away with fiery abandon. He couldn't be sure over the crackling of the flames, but Edward thought he heard the sniffling sound again. Keeping his eyes on the fire, Edward reached over and put his hand on Alphonse's helmet, rubbing it comfortingly as he had always done.

In his mind, he was already etching the words into the face of his pocketwatch: _Don't Forget 3 Oct. 10._


	38. Mischief

**Author's Note: This was another one of those hard prompts. My first thought was to write about some prank the brothers did when they were kids, and that filled me with dread, because I've never been a very mischievous person, and have never pulled a prank in my life, so I have no idea how to go about writing a prank. After much thought, however, I found an easier (and more original!) way out. I was sort of inspired by a scene in Susanna Clark's **_**Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrel,**_** in which a magician calls up a fairy to bring a girl back from the dead. In return, the fairy demands half of someone's life. Somehow or other, the way that conversation played out just reminded me of Ed talking to 'Truth', so with a little thought I came up with this fairy tale-type story. I'll also admit that the part in the middle was somewhat influenced by **_**Fire Bringer**_** by David Clement-Davies.**

**Timeline: None**

**Theme 38: Mischief**

Once upon a time in the faraway land of Amestris, there lived a young sorcerer named Edward. Since childhood he and his younger brother Alphonse had studied their spells, but before they had even come of age, their mother took ill and died in the night. Grief-stricken, the two brothers took down their books of spells and searched for one particular incantation. They searched, day and night, without ceasing, until finally Edward found the spell at the end of one ancient, dusty tome.

The brothers eagerly drew a magic circle in pearly white magic dust, stepped into the middle and spoke the age-old words of power. A golden light, bright as the sun, shone up from the magic dust, and the brothers felt the thrill of the power. Gradually, however, that rich golden light turned dark, and the air grew thick about them. Then the air was rent in two with a great ripping sound, and the veil that hangs between this world and the world of fae was torn in two.

Edward and Alphonse looked on in wonder as a figure stepped out of the swirling hole between the worlds. It was a faerie, a mere blank silhouette of nothingness, a void in a world of matter. Its features were obscured, or else it had no features – nothing but a wide, grinning smile that sent chills down the brothers' spines. "You have called me, and I have come," the faerie said, and his voice made no sound. "What service do you wish of me?"

"Please," Alphonse said, plucking up his courage, "We would like you to bring our mother back to us…if you can."

"Of course I can," the faerie said, its smile widening, "for a price: the thing you treasure most in this world."

"No price would be too great," Edward said rashly. "We would trade _anything_ to see our mother again!"

"Very well." And, to their horror, their mother appeared in that very room – dead, rotting, with worms crawling through her eye sockets. The faerie had done as they had requested: He had brought their mother to them, straight from the grave.

"And now for your payment." The faerie's hand reached out and grasped Alphonse's.

Before Alphonse could do more than scream out, "Brother!" the faerie had pulled him through the rift into the other world. Edward saw with horror what he had done. With his words, he had condemned his own brother.

"Give him back!" Edward shouted at the faerie. Tears welled up in his eyes as the knowledge crashed down on him that he was alone, and that it was all his fault. "Please give him back!" he sobbed. "This isn't what I wanted!"

"No?" the faerie said, still grinning with some secret mischief. "Then I will make a deal with you: If you can tell me what my name is, I will bring your brother back. I will give you one try, and if you fail…I will take you as well."

"All right," Edward said, curling his hands into fists. "But don't you _dare_ hurt my brother!"

"Of course. I am not an unreasonable faerie. I will even give you a riddle to help you:

_"Hearken now to my call_

_All is one, one is all_

_I'm what you see before your eyes_

_I am the Truth, I tell no lies_

_Call me Devil, call me God_

_Call me strange or call me odd_

_But you will never guess my name_

_I make the rules; this is my game_

_Some call me 'world', others say 'universe'_

_Some say I'm a blessing, others a curse_

_I'm a faerie, yes it's true_

_I am me...and I am you."_

The faerie continued to smile that infernal grin as he spoke his riddle in a sing-song voice. "When you have the answer, call me up again." He stepped through the rift back to his own world, his smile fading away last of all.

Edward racked his brains. He pored through every last tome he owned. He muttered to himself, wrote out the riddle forwards and backwards and sideways, but try as he might he could make no sense of it. What on earth could the faerie's name be? He knew he had to be absolutely sure of himself; he only had one chance, and he would not squander it when his brother hung in the balance.

Finally Edward realized that the answer could not be found in his little house, and he set out to traverse the world and seek the answer to his riddle. He wandered from place to place, scouring cities and wastelands alike for the answer. He gained much knowledge from his wanderings, but no matter where he went he could never find the knowledge he sought.

For five long years he searched fruitlessly, until one day he crossed an empty field in the uncivilized wilderness. Suddenly, a black stallion came tearing straight towards him, nearly running Edward over. Edward leapt out of the way, and the stallion reared up on its hind legs, whinnying in surprise. "Who goes there?" it cried. "A human?"

"My name is Edward," was all the sorcerer could think to say.

"I am called Mustang," the wild horse said, puffing and blowing from his hard gallop.

"If I may ask," said Edward, "where were you going in such a hurry?"

"I am searching for power!" the horse called Mustang neighed. "Magic strong enough to protect my herd!"

"Why, what does it need protecting from?"

Mustang snorted in disgust. "There is a stallion who calls himself King – a strong horse, much larger and stronger than I – who is threatening my herd. He means to take the mares for his own, beat the foals into submission…and he has set his eyes on my mate." Mustang's large dark eyes flamed with anger.

Edward thought for a moment, then said, "I may be able to help you…if you will help me."

Mustang shook his mane. "If you can help me find the power to protect those under my authority, then I will do anything for you."

"Very well," Edward said, and pulled out his pouch of magic dust. "I will wake the fire in your soul," he said, sprinkling the white powder all over Mustang's body. "Use it only for the right purposes, for it is a dreadful power."

Then he spoke the ancient words, and the magic powder soaked into the horse's skin. Mustang shook himself, and suddenly his mane and tail erupted in flames that licked his body, yet did not consume him. He stamped his feet, and sparks flew from his hooves, charring the grass around him. He snorted, and out of his nostrils shot plumes of fire. A slow, triumphant smile lit up his face. "Now I have the power to protect the ones I care about!"

Before Edward could stop him, Mustang began to gallop back in the direction he had come from. Edward sped after him, using a spell of swiftness to keep up. But it would have been easy to follow him, for Mustang left a swathe of burned ground in his wake. Finally they came to a stop on a hill where a small herd of wild horses grazed. Even as they approached, another herd came out of the trees, led by a huge, muscular stallion with only one eye. This had to be the one who called himself King.

As soon as he saw the one-eyed stallion, Mustang reared up on his hind legs, neighing and spewing out flames. As all the horses turned to look fearfully at him, Mustang charged towards the King. The King, however, stood firm. As Mustang approached, the King turned swiftly around and lashed out with his back legs, colliding with Mustang's front legs and sending the fiery stallion sprawling. The King raced forward for the kill, but Mustang opened his mouth and sent flames roaring out at his enemy. The King managed to leap aside at the last moment, but the fire singed his tail.

The two stallions fought in this manner for a long time, dodging and kicking and (in Mustang's case) burning the ground all around. Finally the King began to tire, but Edward's magic kept Mustang's weariness at bay. The King melted back into the middle of his herd, who stood their ground to protect him though they rolled their eyes in terror. At first Mustang tried to push through them to get at the King, but they fought hard against him and would not let him through.

The King, safe in the middle of his herd, began to laugh. "You see, Mustang? You are powerless against me and my specially trained herd. I will destroy your herd till the name of Mustang will be forgotten!"

Mustang reared up onto his hind legs, neighing shrilly with rage. Flames burst from him, engulfing the horses at the front of the King's guard. Mustang continued to spew out flames, till the whole herd went up in flames and the screams of dying, burning horses filled the air. And the King screamed loudest.

His wrath satisfied, Mustang's flames died down. Nothing was left of the enemy herd but ashes. Mustang turned shakily to face his herd, but the terrified horses turned and bolted away from him, never to be seen again. Only five horses remained, one of them a sleek chestnut mare with sharp eyes. She approached him and rubbed their heads together. "The others' departure was the price you had to pay to protect us. To save your herd, you had to destroy it."

Mustang wandered off alone and remained distant from his herd for the rest of that day. Edward waited, and what was left of the herd welcomed him when they heard he had helped Mustang. They offered him what unburned grass there still was in the clearing, and that night they all fell asleep under the stars. Early the next morning, when most of the horses were still sleeping, Mustang nudged Edward awake. His eyes, which had burned with such an intensity of feeling the day before, now smoldered like embers that had been covered with dirt. There was sorrow within him now, but he had mastered it. It would not douse the flames of his soul.

"I have come to hold up my end of the bargain," Mustang said. "What is it you need help with?"

Edward briefly explained the situation, and for a long while Mustang was silent. Finally he spoke. "I know very little about magic, and even less about faeries. But I have heard of a wise man who lives at the end of the world. They say there is nothing he does not know. He is called the Golden Man; according to the stories, he is an immortal who came from the sun itself."

"Do you know the way?" Edward asked eagerly.

"No, but I daresay between the two of us we will be able to find him. And you will move much faster if you ride on my back."

So Edward climbed onto the stallion's back, and Mustang set off at a canter. Soon his herd was out of sight. "Aren't you sorry to leave your herd like this?" Edward asked.

"Yes," Mustang panted as he ran. "But you said it has already been five years since your brother was taken. I know that if I were in your position, I would be desperate to save him."

Edward said nothing. For what could he say to that?

And so Edward and Mustang began their quest to find the Golden Man. After many days, they came at last to the end of the world, where the sun is so bright as it rises that everything looks golden. A little house stood on a hill there, and before the house stood a man who glowed in the light of the sun. At first Edward could hardly look at him in the bright light, but as he drew nearer the sun climbed higher in the sky, taking the golden glare with it. When he could see again, Edward saw that the man had golden hair and golden eyes, but other than that he appeared to be a normal human. His house looked familiar, but Edward couldn't remember why.

"Are you the Golden Man?" Edward asked eagerly, dismounting from Mustang.

"Some call me that," the man replied. There was an odd look in his golden eyes. "I have been waiting for you, Edward."

"How do you know my name?" Edward gasped in surprise.

The Golden Man made no reply, but beckoned Edward inside. As he led the young sorcerer through the house, Edward couldn't shake the feeling that he had been in that house before. Finally the Golden Man stopped in a room filled with tomes and magical instruments. On one wall hung a large portrait. "Does this portrait mean anything to you?" he asked.

Edward looked at it and gasped with surprise. It was identical to the portrait that hung in his own study, the portrait of his family before his father had disappeared and his mother had died. He looked between the visage of his father and that of the Golden Man who stood before him.

They were one and the same.

"You are…my father?"

The Golden Man made no reply. There was no need.

After a moment, the Golden Man said, "I know why you have come. I have been watching you from afar; I have seen all your exploits, and…I am very proud of you, my son. But now it is time for me to make up for the mistakes in my past. I will give you the knowledge you seek."

"You know the faerie's name?" Edward asked, hardly daring to hope. "What is it?"

The Golden Man smiled sadly. "Close your eyes, and listen."

So Edward closed his eyes and listened with all his might. But as he stood there, straining his ears, he could hear nothing. No sound, not even the whispering of a breeze or the rustling of cloth. The entire world seemed to be silent.

Finally Edward opened his eyes, intending to demand that the Golden Man tell him plainly what the name was. But, to his astonishment, he discovered that the Golden Man was gone. Edward stood in the study of his own house, where he had summoned the faerie so many years before. Then he realized why the Golden Man's house had seemed so familiar: it, like the portrait, was an identical copy of this house.

Edward looked at the portrait that hung on his wall, and it almost seemed that his father smiled out at him. And as he gazed on the infant face of his younger brother, lost now for nearly six years, Edward realized what the faerie's name was.

Losing no time, Edward pulled out his pouch of magic dust and made a magic circle, just as he and his brother had so many years ago. Then he stepped into the middle, spoke the words of power, and watched as the golden light sprang up, then darkened. The rift between the worlds opened up, and out stepped that same faerie, that same silhouette of nothingness, with that same mischievous smile.

"You have called me, and I have come," it said. "It has been a long time."

"Is my brother unharmed?" Edward asked with a threatening glare.

"Of course. We faeries always keep our promises. Are you ready with your answer?"

"I am. This is your name." And he fell silent, standing as still as possible, staring straight into the void where eyes would normally be.

The faerie grinned back at him for a long time, until finally he said, "Well? What is my name?"

For an instant, fear struck Edward's heart. What if the Golden Man had been wrong? "You have no name."

The faerie's smile faltered, then disappeared into the void. "Is that your answer?" it said, and though its voice made no sound, it was like a whisper.

"Yes."

There was a long moment of silence, until finally the faerie said in disgust, "And it took you six years to come up with this answer? Very well. As a faerie, I am bound to keep my promises. Do not call me up again; I wish to see your face no more."

With that, he stepped backwards through the rift, and as he did the blank silhouette seemed to fill in, until Alphonse stood there in its place. And Alphonse was grinning, but this smile had no mischief. It was filled with love.

And so the sorcerer brothers lived happily ever after, and never called up another faerie again.


	39. Sly Person

**Author's Note: Okay, so I kind of cheated with this theme, I guess. I wasn't really talking about how Ed is a sly person. But I like this all the same; it derives from the theme, and it illustrates what a silly person **_**I**_** am. I think my image of silly!Ed comes at least partly from a very brief mention in Samurai101's fic "Sense". There's this one part that says Ed comes into Al's room every morning and bounces on his bed, yelling with joy that it wasn't just a dream and Al is real and has a body and is never going away. That just turns him into such a gleeful child, and I love it.**

**Timeline: Postseries**

**Theme 39: Sly person**

Is my brother a sly person? I think you should stick in a couple more letters and make that a _silly_ person.

Most people think of my older brother as a very intelligent person, a prodigy even. After all, he holds the record for the youngest person to become a State Alchemist, and he worked hard to get that far. His accomplishments are many and renowned; I don't think I need to mention them all. Human transmutation, soul attachment, Homunculus disintegration, even the method for creating the Philosopher's Stone…. He figured out every single plot our enemies devised, and what's more, he thought of a way to thwart them. He even found a way to make me whole. That's the work of a genius, right?

Well, I'm here to tell you that there's more to my brother than brains and alchemical theories and mind-boggling flashes of inspiration. He's sixteen, hardly more than a child when you think about it, and very silly when it comes down to it.

Sometimes I wonder what all those people who idolize my brother as an amazing prodigy would think if they could see him chasing Den around the Rockbells' yard, yelling, "THAT'S MY SHOE, YOU MANGY MUTT! GIVE IT BACK OR I'LL WEAR YOU FOR A HAT!" Or if they could see him sprawling on the couch, drooling and snoring and unconsciously pushing his shirt up so his stomach is exposed for all the world to stare at his belly button (which sticks out an inch, I swear). Or if they could hear him singing in the shower at the top of his lungs, "Oh mah darlin' Clementiiiine!" in an off-key voice, just to irritate Winry.

Sometimes Brother dances around the room while he's getting dressed, wearing nothing but his boxers and a pair of socks. He claims it's the only way to get a song out of your head when one gets stuck there. I always shake my head and roll my eyes, but then again I've never tried it myself, so who knows? He often wakes me up in the morning by jumping on my bed, laughing and trying to touch the ceiling. When I wake up, he pulls me up to bounce with him until the bed cracks and he has to fix it with alchemy.

When we're alone on the hills of Risenpool, he sometimes tickles me just to hear me laughing. Then I start tickling him and he laughs even harder. He devises complicated traps for Winry and Granny Pinako, which usually involve water balloons, and he giggles and snickers and chuckles the whole time. He grabs the garden hose and sprays everyone in sight, then proceeds to spray himself so he won't feel left out.

The past few months, my brother has been happier than I think I've ever seen him. And whenever he's in a good mood, he gets silly. He makes corny jokes and roars with laughter when everyone just stares blankly at him. He sings silly songs I didn't even know he remembered, and he starts food fights that end up with even Granny Pinako joining in. I think he's trying to make up for his lost childhood.

At the age of ten, my brother had to grow up all in one day. All his smiles, all his silliness, evaporated on the day we skipped home from market only to find our mother lying on the floor, too weak to get up. From that day forward, he had to be a man. He had to be my support, take care of me, keep my spirits up. His intelligence was already that of a grown man, so he forced himself to become one before he was really ready. He made goals and he strived for them with everything he had. He stooped to the indignity of working for the military, and he saw more horrors than anyone ever should, no matter how old they are. He faced death, and he knew that he had to come back unscathed – for me. He had to be my strong pillar of support, because I didn't have anyone else.

And when you have to become an adult ten years in advance, you miss a lot.

I don't think either of us truly realized how much tension we lived in for the five years I was trapped in a suit of armor. Only when I was back in my body again, and we could relax at last, were we able to look back on those years and realize what a sorry state we were in. We lived in constant fear of our enemies attacking us, or the military discovering our secret, or the armor rejecting my soul at last. There was so little time for silliness amongst all the blood, research, and exhaustion.

But once we had defeated our enemies at last, and I was back in my real body again, we seemed to both let out a breath we had been holding for far too long. And then my brother's silliness resurfaced. It started with little things, like blowing bubbles in his glass of milk rather than drinking it, or starting a small war with our utensils over my scrambled eggs. "C'mon, Al!" he would cry with glee. "This is a great way to get your coordination back – if you don't win, you don't eat!"

Then, after I'd finally gotten out of the hospital and we were ready to head back to Risenpool, my brother's silliest plan yet began to form. "I think I want to keep my armor," I said. "So I'll never forget what those years were like."

Suddenly a huge smirk plastered itself over my brother's face. "Hey, Al," he snickered. "Let's give Winry a little surprise."

And the plan was so ridiculous that I agreed, laughing at the look on my brother's face.

When we got off the train, I clambered into my armor, which was really too big for me, and we set off, my brother assuring me he'd warn me if I was about to bump into something. I'm sure I must have been walking strange, but when we got to the Rockbells' Winry didn't seem to notice. "When will you ever learn to call?" she shouted as she jumped off the porch. I couldn't see her, since my head didn't even come up to the top of the breastplate, but I could hear her feet pounding against the ground. "I was really worried about you guys, you know! All that stuff in the news-"

"Hey, Win!" my brother interrupted. "We've got a surprise for you!"

And then he slapped me hard, and I lost my balance and fell over, the helmet rolling off. I crawled out, feeling a little bruised, and saw Winry staring at me with her mouth hanging open. "Al…is that really you?"

"No," my brother said sarcastically. "It's Colonel Mustang in a miniskirt. Who does it look like?"

Then Winry squealed and danced around and shouted, "Ed, you really did it! Oh, I could kiss you!"

And then she did, and he fell over backwards when she let go of him, with the funniest expression I've ever seen on his face.

Ever since then, my brother's gotten sillier and sillier. I know it's because he's happy. He gets to relax, really relax and enjoy life, for the first time in years and years, and he gets to spend it here in Risenpool, with Winry and…well, with me. He told me that first night (after warning me at the top of his lungs that if I mentioned Winry's kiss ever again he'd tear my lips right off) that he was the happiest man on earth.

"No," I said softly, smiling in the darkness, "you're the silliest child on earth."

But I don't think he heard me, because he was snoring rather loudly and already fidgeting with his shirt.


	40. Halves

**Author's Note: This is another theme I knew what to do with almost immediately. Pretty straightforward, but a lovely thought all the same.**

**Timeline: Midseries**

**Theme 40: Halves**

"They're two halves of the same whole."

I heard my mother say that about my brother Alphonse and me, back when we were really little and Mom was still alive. I didn't think too much of it at the time (I was, what, five or something?), but that phrase comes back to me at the oddest of times, and when it does I realize just how true it is.

Sometimes we're like opposites. I'm lively, loud, and quick-tempered; he's calm, quiet, and mild-mannered. We butt heads a lot because our personalities are so different; you wouldn't believe some of the arguments we get into. He's a cat person, and I prefer dogs. He's really tall and intimidating, and I'm…well…you know.

Other times we're almost the same. One time Havoc said that our laughs sound the same, if you take out the echo in Alphonse's voice. If Alphonse had a human body, we'd look similar enough that we could be mistaken for twins. Our thoughts usually run the same way; I can't even count the times we've both come to the same conclusion at the same time. Even our fighting styles are somewhat alike, when you take into account differences like a larger body or automail.

Mostly, we fit each other like a glove, our differences and our similarities all falling into place and complementing each other till we make the perfect team.

But then…I've realized that there's an even greater depth to it. Like anyone else, we're not always stuck in the rut of one attitude all the time. I'm not always yelling, and Alphonse isn't always quiet. I've seen Alphonse get so angry that he could seriously have killed a few people. There have been times when I was subdued enough that not even a comment about my height could rile me.

And I think it's at those times when we need each other the most, because that's when we're the most vulnerable. I have to calm Alphonse down before he does something he'll regret. He has to reach out and encourage me so I'll get up and keep fighting. If we didn't have each other to be there and protect each other…I don't know where we'd be.

I'm not sure if my mother was aware of the full meaning of her words. Were we like this even as children? Were there times when Alphonse would get furious and I would have to stop him from hurting someone? Did I ever become listless, so listless that he was the only one who could invigorate me? Or did that aspect only arise when we grew old in our young bodies, when we reached out for the unattainable and fell short? Maybe that was something that developed out of the desperation of our position. I just don't know.

All I know is that I need my brother, because without him I would be only half of myself.


	41. Coat

**Author's Note: This is one of those themes that I've always known what to write for. I took a lot of inspiration from the manga Chapter 86, where Ed gives a little bit of explanation for why he always wears a red coat. I've read a few fics attempting to analyze the symbolism of Ed's clothes, and this is my take on that.**

**Timeline: Episode 3/Chapter 24/Episode 2; postseries**

**Theme 41: Coat**

When asked what his most prized possession was, Edward Elric would most likely say that it was his coat.

Once he and Alphonse had decided they had recovered enough from the transmutation to leave on the next train to Central, they hastened to make preparations. Alphonse trudged down the hill to purchase their tickets at the station, while Winry and Granny Pinako fixed enough food to fill two large stomachs. Alphonse no longer needed to eat, but ever since Edward's fever had died down after his automail surgery, he had seemed to be hungry all the time. He would have no trouble finishing all that food before they reached Central.

As for Edward himself, he spent the time packing. He found a suitcase in the Elric home and began sorting through their belongings to find what he would need to bring with him. He wasn't too fussed about clothes; he wouldn't need more than a couple changes, and he was more concerned with how many of his alchemical texts would fit. But as he looked through his drawers in the bureau, he found himself pulling out black clothes. Black pants, a black shirt, even a black undershirt. He wondered with a sad little half-smile whether he unconsciously chose them because he mourned his mother.

If anyone asked, he would tell them black was a cool color and leave it at that.

Changing out of the loose sweats he had been wearing at the Rockbells', he pulled on these clothes to make sure they still fit after a year. To his slight dismay, they did. It occurred to him as he pulled on his shoes (which were also black) that perhaps his chosen outfit was too morbid. He looked in the floor-length hall mirror and examined his reflection. His golden hair and light skin looked stark against his black clothes, which somehow made him look smaller than ever.

Frustrated, Edward returned to his room and put an extra pair of black pants in his suitcase and added a couple collared shirts, one black and one white. He began to stuff boxers in the corners, muttering to himself, "Something's missing." Then it hit him. Gloves! He needed gloves so his automail hand wouldn't be immediately obvious.

Yet even as he rummaged around, trying to find his white gloves, the spark of a new idea came to his mind. As soon as he found his gloves and tossed them into his suitcase, he leapt to his feet and hurried into the old mending room. His mother's sewing machine sat on the table by the window, collecting dust. Spools of thread, rolls of cloth, bags of rags, and pincushions glittering with tiny pins greeted him. Edward slowly turned around in the middle of the room, feeling like a stranger in his own house. He had never so much as threaded a needle before, preferring to leave such things to his mother or Granny Pinako.

But then he saw it: a roll of bright red cloth on top of a somewhat crumpled pattern, set to the side to be worked on later. He reached out and swept away the thin layer of dust that had accumulated on it, remembering what his mother had said when she had bought it. _"Your old coat's getting too small, Edward. You've been growing! How about we make you a nice warm coat with this red cloth?"_

Edward fingered the thick, warm cloth. Red had always been his favorite color. It was a manly color, the color of strength and courage. Of course, it was also the color of blood and pain…but how could there be courage when there wasn't anything to fear anyway? _That's what I want to be,_ he thought. _I've seen my share of pain, and I'll probably see more, but I'll need courage on the path I've chosen. I need...a reminder._

Moving the roll of cloth aside, Edward's eyes fell on the pattern. He knew nothing about sewing, but as he studied it, it began to make more sense. His brilliant mind, which could run through complex chemical computations in a matter of seconds, surged forwards to meet this new challenge. After he had studied it for a while, he began assembling his materials. This would be a relatively easy task; his mother had bought just the right amount of cloth to use, and there was plenty of black thread to go around. The little tag on the cloth even said what it was made out of, which made things even easier to figure out.

When he had everything assembled, Edward drew a circle with chalk on the dusty floor, filling it with the necessary lines and scribbling words. Then he carefully placed his materials in the center, knelt down at the edge of the circle, and paused to make sure he had all the details in the forefront of his mind. Then he pressed his palms against the outer line of the circle and began the transmutation. The electric blue light filled the room, and he watched as the cloth and thread moved together, molding into the form he held in his mind. It followed the pattern exactly, from the hood to the hem, except for one embellishment Edward had thought up on the spur of the moment.

When the light died away, Edward reached into the center of the circle and picked up his new coat. He held it up and saw with satisfaction that the stitches were tiny and even, just like his mother had always made. Then he turned it around to see how his design had come out. He grinned as he saw, emblazoned on the back in black thread, the serpent cross: the symbol of alchemy.

Pulling the coat on, Edward returned to the hall mirror and looked over himself again. The coat was a little big, but he was determined to grow into it. It was warm, but not heavy, and it contrasted with his black clothes till he almost seemed to glow. Satisfied, Edward returned to his packing, leaving his mess in the mending room. It would all burn down by this evening anyway.

Winry and Granny Pinako made no comment at his changed attire, but when Alphonse returned from the train station and saw the new coat, he stopped short. "That was the coat Mom was going to make you, wasn't it?" he asked softly.

Edward nodded, scratching Den behind the ears to hide how his left hand had begun to tremble. "I thought I'd finish her work."

"I never said anything, but I was secretly jealous of you," Alphonse admitted. "I wanted a red coat too."

Edward chuckled. "Yeah, you always wanted everything I had."

The unspoken words hung in the air: _I still do. I want a real body like yours._

"Come on," Edward finally murmured. "We'd better say our goodbyes so we can get going."

* * *

In the years that followed, Edward's red coat went wherever he did. It was his distinctive garb, causing him to stand out no matter whom he was with. Some people called his coat gaudy, or hard on the eyes, but he never got rid of it. If it got ripped, he would fix it or make a new one that looked exactly the same. He even added extra lining in the winter to make it warmer.

Some people wished he would just get rid of the thing, but Alphonse liked it. It meant he could always locate his brother in a crowd, despite his small stature. It meant that, while everything around them shifted and changed, his brother was always the same stubborn, hotheaded boy he'd always been. When Edward wore that coat, everything was right with the world.

One of the first things Alphonse felt in his new body was that coat, stripped from Edward's shoulders to wrap around the shivering, naked body lying on the floor. Alphonse felt the strength in his brother's left arm as he lifted the skinny shoulders enough to wrap the coat around them, and then the warmth of the red cloth encased him in a bubble of comfort. It was warm from Edward's body, as if Edward was hugging him even as he fastened the coat down the front to cover him up.

Alphonse found his nose buried in the collar of the coat, and sniffed experimentally. His brother's scent wafted over him – just the same as it had been since childhood, yet full of subtle differences. When he had been ten, Edward hadn't used aftershave, for one thing, nor had his hair carried such a strong smell. Alphonse supposed that was because he had a lot more of it now. And when Alphonse had last caught a whiff of his brother's smell, it hadn't been laced with the scent of oil. But there was still that sweaty, breathless smell he had always associated with his brother, mixed with paper and glue like a book.

"Are you asleep?" Edward asked softly, breaking him out of his thoughts.

Alphonse opened his eyes again and shook his head. "I was just smelling your coat."

Edward smiled and, with the utmost caution, lifted Alphonse's light body into his arms. "Sorry you have to wear this smelly old thing. We'll get you some real clothes soon."

Alphonse smiled and closed his eyes again.

Some months later, as the brothers went shopping together, Alphonse paused outside a store filled with bolts of cloth. "Looking for something?" Edward asked, shifting his paper bag to his other arm.

"Just some red cloth," Alphonse said, scanning the bright colors through the window. "I was wanting to make a coat like yours." When he had given up on finding the right hue through the window, they moved on.

Edward was strangely silent all the way back home.

A few weeks later on his birthday, Alphonse supposed he should have known better. He sat amidst a pile of wrapping paper on the Rockbells' living room floor, surrounded by presents given him by all his friends, who were happy he had regained his body at last. He had saved his brother's present for last, and now it sat in his lap with a growing wet spot on the hood.

Alphonse sniffed and wiped his eyes, then lifted the red cloth to his nose. It smelled like aftershave and shampoo, like oil and sweat, like a musty old book and a brand new one all at the same time. Rubbing the soft, worn cloth against his cheek, Alphonse looked up at his brother at last. "You didn't have to give me your own coat…but thank you."


	42. Day Off

**Author's Note: This one was especially hard to come up with, because it's hard to imagine Ed taking the day off. Sometimes, the answer can be right under your nose.**

**Timeline: Midseries**

**Theme 42: Day Off**

"We're going to take the day off."

"Huh?" Edward, expertly braiding his hair, looked up in consternation.

"A day off. You know, it's what most people do on Saturday?"

"I know what a day off is!" Edward snapped irritably as he tied off his braid. "But where in the world did you get such an idea?"

"I've been thinking," Alphonse said, trying to look stern with his expressionless helmet. "You've been working really hard, and I think it's high time you took a day to just relax!"

Edward stared across the room to where Alphonse sat on his bed. "I don't need a day off! We're just getting started with that new lead!"

"Brother, you're working yourself into the ground. Locking yourself inside, not eating, hardly getting any sleep…. You're only human, and what's more, you're a growing boy-"

"I'm not a-"

"You're thirteen, Brother!" Alphonse interrupted exasperatedly. "You need to take care of yourself, or it'll stunt your growth even mo-"

"JUST BECAUSE I'M NOT THE INCREDIBLE HULK DOESN'T MEAN-"

"Stop interrupting me!" Alphonse cried, leaping to his feet and towering over his older brother. "This is exactly what I mean. You're so tense all the time! You're always losing your temper about something! Our lives are stressful enough by themselves; you don't have to make them even worse by pushing yourself unnecessarily, without even taking any breaks!"

Edward slowly stood up. "Al," he said in a surprisingly calm voice, "we don't have the _time_ to relax. That armor could reject your soul at any moment, so we need to get the Philosopher's Stone as soon as possible. And to obtain that, there are some sacrifices that are necessary. And when…." He dropped his eyes to the floor, lowering his voice as well. "When I think of you spending another day in that _wretched_ tin can, how can I take the day off to just sit around and do nothing?"

"By realizing that if you don't at least eat and sleep, you won't be good for anything once we _do_ get the Stone."

Their eyes met across the hotel room, their wills clashing with an almost-audible clang of steel on steel. Neither of them gave any ground; they simply stared stubbornly at each other, even when Edward's eyes began to itch and water.

"A compromise," Alphonse said softly, not looking away.

"What?" Edward said, blinking furiously and rubbing his eyes.

"We'll keep working, but we'll go to the park to do it sometimes – you need some exposure to ultraviolet rays or you'll start looking like a vampire. And when I tell you to stop working so you can eat or sleep, you'll _stop._ I can keep working through the night; I could use something to occupy the time anyway. How's that? Will you do as I say?"

"Yes, _Mom,_" Edward said, rolling his eyes. Still, he couldn't quite keep the slightest twitch of a smile from his lips.

"Well, if you don't take care of yourself, _someone_ has to."

"Yeah, yeah," Edward said, banging his metal fist against Alphonse's breastplate. "Come on, there's a passage I wanted to show you about fusing chimeras."


	43. Wind

**Author's Note: It took a long time to decide what to write for this theme. I mean, what on earth does wind have to do with the Elric brothers? Finally I tried to think of times in the anime where there's wind, and the night of the transmutation came to mind, with the wind-like effects of the energy, blowing the pages of a book and shattering the glass around the lamps. That got me imagining this scenario, and I just went with it to see where it would go. I don't often write about the brothers' childhood. I don't know why; I guess I just don't find it as compelling because they're so carefree or something, but this is an exception. And once I finished the little adventure, I couldn't resist tying it in to their lives later on in the storyline. Man, I love recuperating!Al way too much…. The second section incorporates a little idea I've had for a long time about the effects on Al's body once he gets it back.**

**Timeline: Preseries; postseries**

**Theme 43: Wind**

Edward jerked awake, staring around himself wildly. For a moment or two, he had no idea where he was or what had woken him. Then the shapes in the darkness took the form of his father's study, the floor littered with books he had been studying before he had fallen asleep. But where was-

Another scream rent the air, and Edward was on his feet before his mind had even interpreted that sound for him. He tripped over a stack of books, but didn't even pause as he tore from the room and raced up the stairs, following the screams. Even as he ran, his mind began clicking away at the facts around him, analyzing each sensation and gauging every memory. The first step in a transmutation is understanding, and that had always been Edward's strong point.

At the first stair, Edward remembered that Alphonse had been with him when he had fallen asleep. At the second he hypothesized that Alphonse had woken in the middle of the night and gone to sleep in his own bed. At the third he heard the wind howling at the walls like some deranged werewolf. At the fourth he remembered Pinako warning them at supper that it looked like a storm was brewing. At the fifth he thought of how Alphonse had always been frightened in big storms like this. At the sixth his mind registered that the sound that had woken him was a deafening crash, followed by Alphonse's scream. At the seventh, the memory of that sound lined up with previous memories of glass shattering. At the eighth, he remembered that the man from the village hadn't been up to prune the tree up by the side of the house since their mother had died. At the ninth, his memory told him that the past two screams hadn't been Alphonse's fearful scream, but his pained one. At the final step, Edward cursed breathlessly and raced down the hall to the room he shared with his brother.

The room was a nightmare. For a moment, Edward could only stand in the doorway and stare. The window over Alphonse's bed was broken. There were little jagged shards of glass everywhere. Books and clothes lay scattered across the floor, and loose papers blew about like tumbleweeds as the wind howled through the room. And there, right in the middle of the floor, lay a large tree limb, severed from the tree directly outside.

Then another cry of pain and fear came from the lumpy bundle on the bed, and Edward snapped into action. Grabbing a pencil rolling around near his feet, Edward raced across the room. He knelt next to the window frame, barely noticing that glass was crunching under his knees. With hasty precision, he drew a transmutation circle on the wallpaper and activated it, concentrating with all his might. The tree branch on the floor began to glow with a blue light, and then it moved to form boards over the broken hole in the window. As soon as the glow faded away and the howling wind died out, Edward leapt to his feet and raced to his brother's side.

Alphonse lay huddled up on his glass-encrusted bed, whimpering in the sudden silence. Edward hastily scanned his brother for injuries and saw that most of Alphonse's body had been protected by the covers. His arms were peppered with dozens of tiny pieces of glass, from throwing up his arms to shield his face. None of them were much to worry about, except....

Edward drew in his breath sharply. Alphonse peeked out from behind his arms, his eyes filled with tears. "Brother," he whispered, "it hurts...." A large shard of glass, as long as Edward's middle finger and just as narrow, impaled Alphonse's hand, piercing through the sensitive palm. Edward almost thought he could see the other end poking out through the back of his hand. He stared and stared and stared, as though his whole life was impaled on that knife-like shard. He watched the blood pooling around the piece of glass, until a drop of red slowly fell onto Alphonse's blue blanket.

Suddenly Edward found himself moving, fetching Alphonse's shoes and their coats, gently easing Alphonse up onto his feet and leading him, crunching all the way as though they trod on newly-fallen snow, to the hall. Edward wasn't sure how steady on his feet Alphonse was, so he wrapped an arm around him and guided him down the stairs and through the house to the front door. When he opened the door, the wind nearly blew them off their feet, pelting them with rain. They struggled outside, and Edward somehow managed to close the door. Then, taking Alphonse's uninjured hand, Edward led the way to the next hill, where the Rockbells lived.

In the few intervals when the wind died down for a moment, he could hear Alphonse crying.

* * *

Alphonse stood before the full-length mirror wearing nothing but boxers that he kept on having to hitch up, since he had borrowed them from his brother. He stared at himself – this stranger who seemed so familiar. That was his face, like the one he remembered looking at in the mirror when he was ten. Now it was so much older, leaner, gaunter. Those were his same silver eyes, but they seemed even bigger than before, surrounded by that bony face. His hair was the same bright golden hue as his brother's, but now it hung down to his waist, thick and ragged.

Alphonse's body was as thin as a stick. His arms and legs were like twigs, the joints sticking out almost grotesquely. His hips stuck out so far it almost looked painful, and he could count his ribs. To be truthful, he hardly looked like more than a skeleton with skin. It didn't seem to matter how much he ate (and he wolfed down everything he could get his hands on); he still looked just as skinny as ever. Five years in the Gate had used up almost every bit of fat on his body. His body looked so alien and ugly, nothing like the plump, almost chubby boy he had been before.

But what bothered Alphonse more than anything – more than how skinny he was, more than his golden hair hanging raggedly down his back, more than the changes puberty had wrought on him without his soul knowing it – was his scars. His body was littered with scars – none half so big or impressive as his brother's, but scars all the same. They had realized, after following one of Edward's hunches and looking at the now-empty suit of armor, that every nick and scratch in the metal was mirrored by a scar on Alphonse's body. They were all faint, white scars, and many of them had been healed in the years before when Edward had fixed the armor. Alphonse had no scars from the many times he had lost an arm or a hand, and thankfully the only scar on his face was one that was nearly hidden by his eyebrow.

These scars didn't help Alphonse's self-image any, and considering his battered, wasted appearance, that was no surprise. He tried not to say anything, because he knew his brother already felt terrible about it. When they had figured out where all the little scars had come from, Edward had apologized with such a stricken expression that Alphonse's newly-restored eyes had smarted with tears.

But there was one scar that couldn't be accounted for by looking at the armor.

Suddenly a knock and a voice came from the other side of the bathroom door. "Al, you okay? You've been in there a long time."

"Just a sec!" Alphonse yelled to his brother, hastily pulling on clothes that were three sizes too big for him. He smiled a little at his reflection; he looked silly swimming in his brother's all-black clothing. They were going shopping for clothes today, and Alphonse was grateful for the chance to change his wardrobe.

He was still smiling as he emerged from the bathroom at last. "I'd forgotten I have a dimple!" he said brightly, trying to put his broodings behind him.

Edward couldn't help smiling back, but he glanced over Alphonse's shoulder at the mirror. "You weren't looking at your reflection all this time, were you?" he asked anxiously.

"I was trying to think what kind of clothes I want," Alphonse quickly said before Edward could get that guilty look again. "And I think I remember where I got this scar." He held up his hand, indicating the little mark on his palm.

"Oh?"

Alphonse nodded. "You remember that time, before we met Master, when there was that huge storm that broke the window? Glass went everywhere, and a big piece went into my hand." He winced at his palm, a faint memory of pain floating back to him along the five years devoid of sensation. "You took me to Winry's, and Granny Pinako bandaged me up."

"I'd forgotten about that," Edward said quietly.

"When Granny pulled the glass out," Alphonse said, fingering the scar, "it hurt a lot. But you never let go of my other hand, not even when it was all bandaged up."

"Well, you were crying a lot," Edward said, taking the scarred hand in his own.

Alphonse smiled his dimpled smile and squeezed his brother's flesh-and-blood hand. "You cried way more than I did."

"There's a crybaby in all of us," Edward said cheerfully, and the brothers embarked on their shopping trip: two boys covered with more scars than they could count, and thankful for each and every one, because each one was suffered for the other.


	44. Hair

**Author's Note: I've always had a basic notion of what I was going to do with this theme, so this was pretty easy. I also got an idea while writing the last one, which I took out of that chapter and developed here. This one also stems from my many years of experience with long hair XD**

**Timeline: Postseries**

**Theme 44: Hair**

"My hair looks disgusting," Alphonse said decidedly.

"Are you kidding?" Edward fingered the broken ends of Alphonse's thick, matted mass of golden hair. "It's so beautiful, I'd think you were a girl if I didn't know any better."

Alphonse watched his own face soften in the mirror. "You can only say that because you transmuted every particle of protein in it."

"What can I say?" Edward joked, tucking a tangle behind Alphonse's ear. "It's quality protein."

Alphonse thought he saw something in his hair, but just then the head nurse poked her head into the room. "All right, Alphonse. I'm ready for you now."

Edward pushed Alphonse's wheelchair out the door the nurse held open for them, and Alphonse watched happily as he glided down the hall, passing nurses, doctors, patients, visitors.... They even passed a boy only a little younger than Alphonse who was sitting in a wheelchair with his leg propped up, stiff and white in a cast. The boy gave Alphonse a commiserating look, and Alphonse smiled encouragingly back at him. There was nothing wrong with his legs, except that he hadn't used the muscles in them for five years, and his legs didn't seem to want to support him or obey his commands. He was working on hobbling about with his brother, but it was too far this time, so he was taking the wheelchair.

The nurse led the way into a large, white-tiled bathroom, and Edward wheeled Alphonse over to the large sink. The nurse gently held his hair and pushed his head back against the sink. Alphonse heard the water running behind him, and closed his eyes as he felt the warm water lapping against his scalp. The nurse's fingers massaged his head, sometimes snagging in the many tangles, but never pulling them painfully.

All too soon, five years' worth of oil was washed away. The water turned off, Alphonse opened his eyes, and the nurse patted his hair dry. He felt a pressure on his shoulder and looked over at the nurse, who had laid a hand on his shoulder. "Are you _sure_ you don't want me to just cut it all off?"

"I'm sure," Alphonse replied calmly.

"But it would be so much easier to-"

"Hey, lady, he said no, okay?" Edward shoved her hand away and pushed Alphonse's chair resolutely forward.

"Sorry!" Alphonse called over his shoulder at the surprised nurse. "Don't mind him; he didn't mean any offense!" When they were out of earshot, Alphonse sighed. "Why are you always like that, Brother?"

"She was bugging you!" Edward complained, and Alphonse could just imagine the pout around the edges of his mouth. "I'm not gonna let anyone bother you ever again."

Alphonse rolled his eyes. "If you keep doing that, _you're_ going to be the one who's bothering me!"

Edward grumbled under his breath all the way back to the room, but Alphonse could tell he was still in a good mood. When they had reached the room, Edward fetched his brush and began to tackle Alphonse's hair. Starting at the ends, he slowly made his way up, muttering under his breath at the knots in the hair. Yet even when he grew increasingly frustrated and started swearing when a tangle refused to come out, his hands were gentle, so gentle Alphonse was hardly aware of them.

Time dragged on, and the brush moved steadily upwards. Alphonse was running, running, running, then _tripped_ and- Alphonse jerked out of his light doze, rattling his wheelchair. Edward immediately stopped brushing. "What's wrong?"

"I fell asleep," Alphonse murmured. It had been a few days, but he still marveled at how easily he could drift in and out of sleep.

"Cool," Edward breathed fervently, continuing to brush. His tone was genuine, and Alphonse imagined his older brother watching while he slept. Watching and marveling.

Finally the brush and Edward's fingers made their way up to Alphonse's scalp. As he brushed, he broke their contented silence. "Why do you want to keep your hair long?" he asked.

Alphonse thought about it for a minute. "I like it. And...it makes me think of you. I want to have a long ponytail like yours...now that I can."

Edward chuckled. "You always were a copycat," he said lovingly. Suddenly he drew in his breath. "What's this?" he breathed, his hands freezing in Alphonse's hair.

"What? What is it?"

After a moment, Edward got up and pushed the wheelchair over to the mirror. Alphonse marveled at how smooth and shiny his hair looked now. The ends were still somewhat ragged, but a haircut would fix that. Edward hesitated for a moment, then tucked a lock of Alphonse's hair behind his ear as he had before. The tangles had hidden it before, but now they could clearly see the patch of hair just behind and above his ear.

It was an island of silver in a sea of gold.

Alphonse numbly touched the hair, as if some part of him couldn't quite believe it was his.

Edward slumped onto the foot of the bed behind Alphonse and dropped his head into his hand. "You're fifteen," he said in a slightly muffled voice. "You're not supposed to get grey hair yet! This is all my fault...."

"Stop it, Brother," Alphonse said firmly, fingering his grey hair. "It's not that bad. Just a bit of grey hair. Probably from the stress of going through the Gate, and living so long apart from my soul."

Edward looked up with a stricken expression. "It's still my fault."

"I don't care whose fault it is," Alphonse said, flipping his hair back to cover up the patch of grey. "Grey or gold, it's my hair. At least I have some now."


	45. Awakening

**Author's Note: When I saw the theme, at first I thought, "Oh brother, now I'm going to have to write **_**another**_** oneshot about Al being alone at night!" But then when I looked at it again, I remembered that there's a song by Mae called "Awakening". Inspired, I decided to come at this theme from a different angle and did a Banks songfic of that song. The thing I like about the song the best is how the piano chords almost sound like wings flapping, to me anyway.**

**Timeline: Postseries**

**Theme 45: Awakening**

Hey, Brother. There's something I want to tell you, and I want you to just listen for a while, okay? Don't say anything till I'm done. Promise?

This world is such a paradox. Happiness and sorrow always seem to go hand-in hand, so I can never be purely happy or sad, with both of them mixed together like that. I don't know...I guess I somehow thought that if I could get my body back, everything would be magically perfect. I should have realized all the sacrifices we'd have to make just to reach this point, and if we wanted to get back all the things we've lost, we'd just lose even more.

So many people gave up so much for us. They gave up their comfort, their safety, their futures, sometimes even their lives. And it's not our fault, not really. It was their choice to make; they chose what they were willing to give up. But that doesn't stop me from missing them, or wishing there could have been some other way.

But you know, if we'd never made our own sacrifice, we would never have met any of them. Just think how much darker our lives would be then!

That's not what I wanted to talk to you about, though. I've been longing to be able to sleep for years, but now that I can, I've realized there's a small amount of sadness in that too. Maybe it's just that it's been so long since I've slept that I've forgotten what it's like, but...now I'm afraid to fall asleep.

When I close my eyes, it's like my soul is sprouting wings and flying away from my body. I'm not in touch with my body lying in the bed anymore. Sometimes I have nightmares that I wake up and find out my soul's gone, that it disappeared while I was sleeping and now I can't tell how to get it back. And I don't want to be in pieces again.

That's when I wake up in the dark and I'm terrified. With the lights off and no one making a sound, I'm invisible. Disappeared. I think I feel even more alone than I used to when I couldn't sleep. At least then I could look over and see that you were there, asleep but...just _there._ So that I wasn't really alone. But now it's like even that doesn't matter. It's like a star that's been dead for years, but I've only realized it now because it took so long for the light to reach me.

So every night when I close my eyes, I take off and I'm flying. And it's scary, not having any ground to put my feet on. What if I fall? What if my wings give out before the night is over? Or what if I fly too high and too far, and the sun melts the wax on my wings? I'm...I'm scared, Brother.

Sorry. I didn't mean to start crying.

I just wish you could be with me somehow when I sleep. I know if you were here...I'd be fine.

* * *

It's okay, Al. It's okay. You go ahead and cry if you need to. I'm right here. I've got you. You're not going anywhere.

I can't imagine how scary this must be for you. When you haven't slept in five years, every awakening must be a relief. But you've got to sleep more, Al. You're getting big circles under your eyes. It's not good for your body if you keep yourself from sleeping.

Look.... You said if I was there, you'd be okay, right? You little silly, I'm always there, just in the next room. I'm never gonna leave you, little brother. Not even when you sprout wings and fly away. I'll just grow wings of my own and join you in your dreams. Then that sun you were talking about will just fizzle away and die out, and there won't be anything to worry about anymore. And if you fall, I'll just catch you and bring you back to earth myself.

Yes, really. Here, I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll share a room from now on, and we'll get that old night light Winry used to use when we were little. Then if you ever wake up in the middle of the night, all you have to do is look over at me, and you don't have to be sad or scared anymore. How's that sound?

Here. Blow your nose.


	46. The All Night Vigil of a Sleepless Night

**Author's Note: I struggled with this one, because I've already written several stories about one or another of the brothers not being able to sleep, and all the drama that goes along with it. One of my oneshots is even called "Lonely Vigil", which is almost frighteningly similar to this theme. Again, I tried to come at it from a different angle/style, and that's probably why it turned out kind of weird. Oh well. Merry Christmas, everybody!  
**

**Timeline: Midseries**

**Theme 46: All night vigil/Sleepless night**

"G'night, Al."

"Night, Brother."

The light clicks off, and the hotel room is steeped in darkness. The only illumination comes from the orange glow of the street lamp outside, muted by the faded green curtains hanging in the little window. The silence is as unearthly as the golden-green light seeping through the whole room. There is only the sound of one person breathing himself slowly to sleep, as though the other one forgot. The beds on either side of the room both sink under the weight of their occupant, though the hulking shape in the bed on the left-hand side makes no sound, nor any motion. It would almost look lifeless, like the corpse of a giant, if it were not for the red eyes glowing in the darkness.

Those eyes gaze steadily across the room at the other bed, bathed in the oddly-colored bands of light. A boy lies there, golden hair turning green as it splays across his pillow. His sleeping face lies tranquil in the middle of the unearthly green hair, glowing orange in a spot of light shining through a hole in the curtain. His face is weary but contented, with dark circles under his eyes and creases in his forehead that will surely become wrinkles, now gently smoothing out as he sleeps his worries away.

The hulking figure in the other bed watches and waits patiently as the boy's breathing deepens and slows. When he is sure Edward is fast asleep, Alphonse slowly begins to move. Just an inch at a time, slow enough to make sure none of his steel plates squeak against each other. If Edward fidgets in his sleep, Alphonse freezes, able to keep perfectly still without blood pumping through his veins or skeletal muscles quivering against his will. He slowly, painstakingly sits up, gets to his feet, and moves over to kneel by his brother's bed. Then, once again, he is utterly still.

The glowing red eyes have remained fixed on Edward's face this entire time, steady and unblinking. He is completely prepared to kneel like this for hours on end, watching over his brother through the dead of night, till a new kind of light starts seeping through the curtain. Then he will reverse the process and climb silently back into bed. But for now, he watches.

Alphonse's all night vigil is broken. The silence is sliced with a tiny, plaintive "Al". The creases have returned to Edward's face, deepening as he begins to move fitfully in the throes of some unimaginable nightmare. He mumbles incoherently, only a few words making their way through to Alphonse: "Stop...Alphonse...don't take...kill you if...Al...Al...."

But Alphonse's arm has been moving since the nightmare began, moving with the same careful slowness that brought him here. Now his hand, made of leather rather than cold steel, touches Edward's forehead with the lightest, most fleeting touch imaginable, brushing aside stray strands of hair and lightly caressing his sweaty skin, which has turned green in his thrashing. Alphonse's hand slowly, slowly presses its palm against Edward's cheek.

And, like magic, Edward's mumblings die away. His movements become calm, and the creases in his forehead smooth out. Like a cat, he presses his cheek against the enormous hand, turning his face towards it and the golden spot of light. A tiny smile curls his lips, as the horror of his brother disintegrating before his very eyes transforms into a vision of his brother whole once more. "Al...."

Alphonse watches this transformation from the outside, proud to have caused it. Yet as he watches, Edward slowly emerges from sleep. He does not change his breathing or open his eyes, but he slowly grows aware of the hand caressing his cheek, growing warm with his body heat. But the warmth he feels is a warmth of a different sort, and it immobilizes him, preventing him from sleeping any longer. And so they remain motionless throughout their sleepless night.

And he is awake, and he knows, and he knows he knows, but neither of them say a word. They will never acknowledge this ever happened when the sun has risen.

Because they already know, so why do they need to say anything?


	47. In the Dead of Night

**Author's Note: I liked this theme. I knew exactly what to do with it, and after all the trouble I'd been having, such a theme was welcome.**

**Timeline: Postseries**

**Theme 47: In the dead of the night**

In the dead of the night, anything can happen. It was the middle of the night when the transmutation of hope imploded into the rebound of guilt. Darkness surrounded me as I screamed my brother's name into the empty room, crying and gasping and clutching my leg that was no longer there.

It was late at night when little Nina Tucker was mutated from a happy, loving girl into a monster. Cloying darkness filled my heart as I stood in the rain and realized that that ugly splotch of blood on the wall was all that remained of the girl I had come to regard as my little sister.

It was almost midnight when I decoded the final secret ingredient of the Philosopher's Stone. The darkness outside the window threatened to eat up my soul as I sat there, letting dread and revulsion course through me. My only hope had been stripped away from me, and I was drained of all energy.

It was getting on towards night when I lay in an agony of the completest form – body racked with a torment of pain and confusion at the sudden addition of metal limbs, mind reeling with the enormity of what we'd done and racing to decide what to do next, soul shattered with guilt of the acutest kind. The stars were in the sky when I steeled myself to ask the question that had been weighing on me for so long – and I chickened out.

It was night when Mom died, the life slowly fading from her soft grey eyes and her fingertips. It was night when the Gate took my little brother away. It was night when I got the phone call that Granny Pinako had died peacefully in her sleep. It was night when my brother and I came rushing into the Curtises' house, only to find that we were too late, and Sig and Mason sat around Master's silent bed with tears in their eyes. It was night when I buried my father with heavy heart. It was night when my little Sara passed away.

The night is filled with grief and terror for me. Night is when I wake in a sweat, panting from an experience almost too real to be a nightmare. Night is when I lie in bed and let a few tormented tears slip down my cheeks, hoping no one will hear.

But in the dead of the night, anything can happen.

It was the middle of the night when my little brother was born. Just a few minutes more, and he would have been born in a different month. I was just a baby, asleep and unaware that the most important person in my life had just come into the world. Darkness enclosed his first few hours as our mother laid him down next to me in the crib. When we woke in the morning, his hand was clamped around one of my chubby fingers.

It was night when my brother and I discussed alchemic theory and the meaning of life. Many times, we would work out our hardest problems under cover of darkness. The night was a time of companionship.

It was night when my own little Nina was born. I paced back and forth as the hours stretched on and on, and I muttered to myself that we were never doing this again. Darkness pressed against the windowpanes as my brother kept me company, as I hurried into the room when it was all over, as I held my perfect little daughter in my arms. "Let's have five more," I murmured into the darkness, while my wife only laughed.

It was night when I finally worked up the guts to ask my brother, "Do you hate me?" Even in the middle of a battle, as I huddled behind a wall for cover, I felt a sense of relief for finally asking the question that had been weighing on me for so long. The darkness was all around me as my brother looked me straight in the eye and said, "How could I ever hate you, Brother? I love you too much."

And the sun had set, night had fallen, darkness had come, when I stood before my little brother with my heart pounding in my throat as I said, "It's time at last, Al. I'm going to fix you once and for all." The darkness surrounded us when the transmutation's light faded away, and Alphonse Elric was finally whole once more.

The night can be filled with comfort and tenderness for me. Night is when I dream of my mother or my brother, and I wake up smiling. Night is when I feel my brother wrap his arms around me comfortingly, even if I think I've been perfectly quiet. Night is when my brother thinks I'm asleep and whispers, "I love you" into the darkness.

So you see? Night isn't so bad after all.


	48. Side of Face

**Author's Note: At first I thought I was really stumped; this is rather a weird prompt, if you ask me. But then a sentence popped into my head: **_**All I ever see of my brother these days is the side of his face.**_** I thought, "I can run with that," and proceeded to explore why such a thing would be. I didn't realize it at the time, but I was also using an idea – the idea of a wall of glass erected between them – that I was also using in an original story at the same time. Interesting overlap there.**

**Timeline: Early on in the series**

**Theme 48: Side of face**

All I ever see of my brother these days is the side of his face. Just the silver curve of his steel visor, that's it. He never seems to want to look me in the eye anymore, and I can't figure out why.

What happened? There used to be nothing between us – no secrets, no evasion of questions, no hard feelings.... It was just _us._ Nothing hindered us from reaching out and feeling the warmth of each other's heart.

But now, a wall of glass has been erected between us. I can see him, but I can't touch him, and no matter how loud I shout, he can't seem to hear my voice. I used to be able to read my little brother like a book, but now that his face is made of steel...I have to expend a lot of energy, and even then I'm wrong sometimes. So I can't tell what he's thinking when he won't look at me.

Maybe he's embarrassed about his new body. It's so clumsy, and he's broken things more than once when he misjudges his own strength. And he's so much bigger, too; he draws so much unwanted attention to himself. Everyone stares at him, and he's not used to it.

Maybe he's ashamed about what we did. Maybe he doesn't want me to know that something's wrong, because he's afraid I'll say it wasn't his fault again. He seems determined that he was to blame. Maybe I've been too stubborn; maybe I should've tried harder to listen to what he was saying. Maybe then he would look me in the eye.

But maybe...maybe he doesn't look at me because he hates me. Yeah, that's probably it. I bet he hates me for putting him in that tin can. That's what's come up between us. That's why I can't feel him anymore. He hates me.

Well then, I won't force my company on him any more than necessary. I have to stay with him, to protect him, to get his body back, because I'm his older brother and I care about him. But I won't look at him. I won't force eye contact. It's what Alphonse wants.

It doesn't matter if it's killing me.

* * *

All I ever see of my brother these days is the side of his face. Whenever he talks to me, he's always looking off in some other direction; he never actually looks _at_ me. And I can't figure out why!

He never used to avoid my gaze like this. He always used to look me squarely in the eye, his golden gaze steady and determined. He wouldn't hide anything from me, and if he tried, he'd always cave in eventually without my doing anything, and spill the beans right out. But now...he doesn't even _look_ at me.

I think I could figure it out if he'd just meet my eyes. I've always been able to tell pretty well what he's thinking when we look into each other's eyes. But what can I do now except guess?

Maybe he's just really preoccupied. I know he's got a lot on his plate right now. Lots of things to worry about, lots of things to concentrate on. Maybe when he looks away, it's just because his eyes are following his mind, which trails away to more important things he needs to think about.

Maybe he still feels guilty about what we did. I know he takes all the blame onto himself. Maybe he thinks I blame him too, and that's why he won't look at me. Maybe he even thinks that I hate him, which is so far from the truth it makes me want to cry. No matter how many times I tell him it's not just his fault, he doesn't listen to me.

Or maybe...maybe he doesn't look at me because I'm a nuisance. Maybe he told me not to come with him at first because I'm tiresome. I caused him so much trouble that night; he had to go back and fetch me, giving up even more of himself just to keep me alive. I'm such a burden on him even now; I worry him, and he feels obligated to get my body back. Maybe deep down, he just wants to get away from me while he goes around doing the whole State Alchemist thing. Maybe that's why he never looks at me, because he wishes I wasn't there to begin with.

Well, I can do that. I can try to pretend I'm not here. I can be distant, and only speak when it's necessary. I can avoid his eyes as much as he avoids mine.

It doesn't matter if it's killing me.


	49. Cold Hands

**Author's Note: This one stumped me for a while. I wanted to do something a bit less generic than "your hands are cold; here, let me warm them" (that's what I tend to see in Royai 100 Themes, it seems to me). That would have worked, but it wouldn't really be anything new, you know? Then in my weekly perusal of fanfiction, I read a paternal RoyEd story, and I got a sudden urge to write from Mustang's perspective again. Plus, I think I've been cheerful and fluffy for long enough that a suicidal chapter will be okay XD Just kidding! That's not how I decide to do chapters; this was the only idea that came.  
**

**Timeline: AU break-off from Episode 45-ish; some mentions of Roy's past from the manga**

**Theme 49: Cold hands**

The first time Roy Mustang shook Alphonse Elric's hand, he knew it was a mistake. He had taken off his gloves out of politeness (not that it would alter the scowl on Mrs. Rockbell's face), and his warmed palm met the gauntlet that served as Alphonse's hand. The sheer cold strength of that grip astonished him, and he had to remind himself that this hulking metal monster was really just a boy.

But Alphonse was made of metal, so his whole body was cold to the touch. That frigid touch seemed to linger on Roy's hand; even hours later, as he sat on the train back to East City with Lieutenant Hawkeye, he could almost feel those icy fingers clamping around his own. Alphonse's cold hands were like the hands of the dead. They had no blood pumping through them to keep them warm, so they remained cold, cold as the grave.

Roy had felt hands with that same deathly chill before. Countless dead comrades in Ishbal, not to mention dead enemies he touched to check their pulse. And then, of course, his alchemy teacher who died right in front of him. The only thing all those people had in common was how cold their hands were. When Roy touched Alphonse's hands, he felt nothing but death. And really, when you thought about the Elrics' story, you had to admit that it rather sounded as though Alphonse had died.

Sometimes, Roy wondered how Edward could manage to act normal around his brother. Roy tried to hide it, but he felt awkward around Alphonse. Edward was hot and full of life; Roy felt easy around him, even when they fought like mortal enemies. But Alphonse was cold and calm and expressionless, and Roy didn't know what to do around him. It was like having a ghost in the room who didn't know he was a ghost, and you were on edge whenever he was around, but you couldn't say anything for fear of hurting his feelings. But then, Edward was very obviously not Roy, and he had grown up with Alphonse. He loved his little brother very much; it was obvious in the way his whole being seemed to come alive whenever Alphonse was in the room. The irony was not lost on Roy that a person he thought of as dead could animate someone so effectively.

It occurred to Roy that Edward must not think of Alphonse's cold hands the way he did. Roy could think things like that because Alphonse was not a relative, just a friend – one whose well-being was important to him, but not the closest one to his heart. But for Edward, that was his _brother._ His best friend and, much of the time, his only companion. Edward had to think of Alphonse as being alive, regardless of how cold he was, because if he didn't his whole world would fall apart. The only thing between him and depression or even insanity was his belief that somehow, somewhere, Alphonse Elric was alive, and all he had to do was restore his body, and all would be right with the world.

And if Edward could touch those cold hands and call them alive, Roy supposed that the boy considered warm hands to be dead.

Roy stood, feet rooted to the floor of the abandoned warehouse, and stared. He was unable to move. His mind was vaguely aware of the soldiers behind him speaking in harsh, clipped tones that crashed obscenely into the sacred silence. Their words were meaningless to him. All that had meaning was the enormous transmutation circle on the bare concrete floor, immense and precise and so beautiful and _ingenious_ it made him want to cry. How a fifteen-year-old had come up with this was a mystery Roy could sense he would never understand.

At the edge of the circle was Lust, the beautiful but deadly Homunculus Roy had heard Edward mention several times before. She lay sprawled on the floor, mangled and bloody, barely recognizable if not for the Ouroborus tattoo of a snake eating its tail. An inordinate amount of blood pooled around her, and even more of it had splashed up against the wall, as if it had kept regenerating until she had no more power to do so. Wide swathes had been cut across her whole body, as if in a fit of rage. A trail of bloody footprints led away from her mangled body to the center of the transmutation circle, and they swerved as if the person who made them had been unsteady on their feet.

In the middle of the circle lay two lumps – one grey, one red. Roy had to stare for a long while before he realized they were the brothers. Alphonse was lying down with his helmet off to the side, and Edward crouched at his side, hunched over so he was even smaller than normal.

Gradually Roy realized that someone was shaking his arm and speaking to him. "Sir? Sir, we should make sure they're all right. Can you hear me, sir?"

Roy slowly turned his head to find that Lieutenant Hawkeye was at his side. When had she gotten here? Oh, right, he had brought her with him on this hastily put together investigation. It was Havoc's day off, and Breda had already left, so he had just taken Fury, Hawkeye, and a few others to investigate the disappearance of one Full Metal Alchemist.... Wait. Hawkeye had said something, hadn't she? What was it again? "O-Oh," he managed to croak out as her words registered in his mind. "Yes, I suppose we'd better...."

He began to walk towards the center of the circle, his body feeling heavy and awkward. He told himself not to think, forced himself not to wonder what had happened here, why Edward just sat there in the middle of the transmutation circle that could bring his brother back once and for all.

The distance to the Elrics seemed to grow with every step he took, but finally he found himself looking down at Edward. How could he be so small? Then Roy saw what the boy was doing. Edward clutched one of Alphonse's huge hands to his chest, rocking back and forth ever so slightly. Roy's eyes slid unwillingly to Alphonse's helmet, then to the small red blood seal on the inside of Alphonse's armor. He had only seen it one or two times, but he knew it was all that kept Alphonse's soul tied to the armor. Alphonse looked so strong and threatening, but really he was rather vul-....

Then Roy saw the large scratch right through the center of the seal, breaking the lines of Edward's old blood.

Roy felt his heart leap to his throat, and suddenly the shock was gone. _Edward,_ he thought. _Oh, Edward, _Edward_...._ He squatted down by Edward's side and softly said the boy's name. He had to repeat himself three times before Edward finally responded, slowly raising his head as if it was a leaden weight. Roy felt the lump growing painfully in his throat as he saw Edward's eyes. He had seen people weeping in acute anguish, and he almost wished that was what Edward was doing. Instead, the boy just stared blankly at him, his eyes empty as if Lust had killed his soul too. He looked shattered, pathetic, like a broken vase that no one bothered to pick up. There was nothing of the Edward Elric Roy thought he knew. No sharp retorts, no bragging about his expertise, no ranting about those annoying Homunculi who always ruined his plans, no _We'll get 'em next time, won't we, Al?_ That energetic, immature boy was gone. Dead. Murdered. Just like his....

"Oh, Edward," Roy murmured, reaching out to put his hand on the boy's. Somehow, he ended up placing his palm on the back of Alphonse's gauntlet instead.

It was warm.


	50. Fingertips

**Author's Note: I'm at the halfway point! Woohoo! Originally I was going to write this for the previous theme, "Cold hands". After reading Chapter 90 of the manga, I knew I'd have to write something about the tiny little scene the Elric brothers have together (it's the first time they'd talked in so many chapters!). But as I was glancing at the themes, I noticed this theme, and realized that "fingertips" went better with this scene than "cold hands". So I came up with something else for Theme 49 and then wrote this!**

**Timeline: Chapter 90/Episode 49  
**

**Theme 50: Fingertips**

Edward realized as he stood there that he hadn't seen his little brother in almost two weeks. One thing had led to another, and he hadn't even had time to think about it until now, but they had been apart for a long time indeed. Over the years, there had been times when separation was forced upon them, but it had always been just for two or three days, at most. Edward searched his memory, but he couldn't think of any time they'd been apart for this long. He supposed there might have been some time, but no memory would come.

Edward was surprised at the force of his emotions. He hadn't thought about it much, probably because he wasn't used to not having Alphonse by his side, but as he stood in the dim light on top of the hill, he realized just how much he missed his little brother. It was like a pain in his chest that wouldn't go away, a hitch every time he drew breath. He missed having a huge suit of armor by his side all the time. He missed that gentle, echoing voice calming his temper and reminding him of what was important. He missed having someone who would listen to every word he said, and understand all the words in between that he _didn't_ say. He was surrounded by people he supposed he could call friends, or at least allies, but none of them was his brother. None of them had been with him every step of the way. He couldn't completely relax around them, because there was always the chance they would turn on him. But not his brother. He could trust Alphonse with his life, and more.

That was what had made their meeting so hard. For a split second, before it had clicked in his mind that Pride had taken control of Alphonse's armor, Edward had thought that Alphonse was turning against him. And that thought had frozen him to the core for an instant, before rage bubbled up at the monster who had invaded Alphonse as though he was nothing. Because if Alphonse turned against him...Edward would have no one. Oh, sure, he'd have plenty of friends who would help him out – and Winry and Granny Pinako would take him in as if he was part of the family, as they had always done... But no one would watch his back. No one would be there in the dead of night, ready to comfort him right when he needed it, in the way he needed it. No one would understand when he needed calm, soothing words, or a punch on the jaw, or a stern reminder of what they were fighting for, or just a cold metal arm around his shoulders that said better than any words that he _knew_, and it was okay to cry.

How had Edward ever managed to survive the past two weeks?

Slowly becoming aware of his comrades chattering behind him, Edward shook his head and advanced towards the giant dome of earth Hohenheim had transmuted to contain Pride and Alphonse. Edward didn't see why it had to be so huge. _Show-off,_ Edward grumbled to himself, as he came to a stop in front of the displaced earth. Even he had to admit that it was an amazing bit of alchemy, and if he wasn't mistaken, Hohenheim had actually transmuted with his _feet._

Forcing eager calculations about how such a thing could be accomplished out of his head, Edward realized that he could hear sounds coming from inside the dome: little shufflings of movement, and a muffled banging that sounded like a stick beating glumly against Alphonse's helmet. Edward had been afraid that Alphonse wouldn't be able to hear him, but this raised his hopes a little. "Al," he said, testing it out.

He could hear the muffled clanking noise as Alphonse straightened up. "Yes, Brother?"

Again, Edward found himself staggered by his own emotions. That voice sounded so calm, so trusting, as if the most dangerous Homunculus wasn't sitting a few feet away. As if they sat looking up at the starry night sky, talking about their plans for the future. As if there was no wall of earth separating them. And, oh, how Edward wanted to be in there with his little brother, to just sit by his side and look into those red eyes and see the little human boy smiling out of them.

But all he could do was place his hand on the earth and imagine he felt Alphonse's metal fingertips against his own.

Anger at the situation they were in frothed up inside him. _I've missed you and I hate myself for not being there and I want to kill that Pride brat for controlling you and I want to punch you for deciding to lure Pride without asking me first but it was a brilliant idea and you're so brave and I love you so much it hurts!_

"We're gonna go and mop the floor with that bearded freak."

Alphonse hesitated, as if astonished at the vehemence in Edward's voice. Then he said softly, "Be careful."

_I've missed you too and I've been scared and helpless and I did this to help you but I'm sorry it makes you feel guilty and I'm sorry I won't be there to fight with you but you'll be able to do it because you're strong and you're a genius and I love you so much I can actually _feel _it Brother._

They stood there for a moment, and it seemed the whole world had been silenced at Alphonse's unspoken _Brother,_ a silence fading away into silence. A lump grew in Edward's throat as he acknowledged that this might be the last conversation he would ever have with his little brother. There was a high chance that he might die when he reached Central.

But...if he died he would never get Alphonse's body back. He would never see his little brother smile, never feel his warmth, never listen to his heart beating calmly away... Edward clenched his fist. He had to be strong for his brother. He had to survive this fight, defeat Father, then come back and free Alphonse from his double prison of earth and metal.

He knocked his knuckles against the earthen wall. "Yep," he said.

Alphonse knocked on his side of the wall. "Bye," he murmured softly.

Edward turned and strode swiftly away, towards his companions talking their plans over. He would succeed. He was the Full Metal Alchemist. And what was more...he was Alphonse Elric's older brother.


	51. Embracing from the Back

**Author's Note: I wasn't sure what to do with this at first – but then I remembered the short shots in one of the theme songs (it's either Undo or Tobira no Mukou He, I think), where Ed is sleeping and leaning up against Al. One of the shots is Ed actually riding piggyback while he sleeps. And then I thought about how much riding piggyback looks like embracing from the back...**

**Timeline: Postseries**

**Theme 51: Embracing from the back**

Alphonse closed the door softly behind him. _How typical, _he thought. He had found his brother at last, sprawled across the old sofa in their room. He was fast asleep, and no wonder – he had spent the morning chasing after Den for eating his research notes, and the afternoon hopping around on one leg to keep out of reach of Winry's wrench after admitting he hadn't oiled his automail in almost a month. Winry had gotten her revenge by jamming his leg back in before he was ready. He had started swearing like a sailor and tried to run after her, but his leg had been so painful he couldn't walk on it.

Looking down at his brother, Alphonse found it hard to believe that Edward could be so lively. Now Edward was as limp and still as a rag doll, one arm hanging over the edge while the other lay placidly on his bare stomach. Clicking his tongue softly, Alphonse gently tugged Edward's shirt back down.

Then Alphonse noticed the way his brother was positioned. Edward had finally hit a growth spurt, so now he couldn't fit on the sofa if he lay with his legs straight. He had propped his head up on the armrest, but his neck was at such an angle that Alphonse winced. _No wonder Brother's been complaining about neck aches, if that's how he sleeps._

Without thinking, Alphonse tucked his arm under his brother's shoulders, careful not to wake him. It was only when he turned to tuck his other arm under Edward's knees that he remembered he wasn't a suit of armor anymore, and his body was now much smaller than it had been. He hesitated, then reached over as far as he could and tried to lift Edward's legs anyway. The metal leg slipped out of his grasp and dropped back onto the sofa; Edward grunted softly and shifted around in his sleep. Alphonse quickly let go of him.

But when Edward grew still once more, Alphonse tried to pick him up again. He soon discovered that no matter how he tried to get his arms underneath Edward's body, Edward proved too large and heavy to lift. Alphonse finally gave up, turning around and sitting in front of the sofa with a frustrated sigh. He had carried his brother so many times – many more times than Edward was even aware of. He would often fall asleep while waiting for one train or another, or he would fall asleep in the train and couldn't be woken up. Then Alphonse would gather him into his enormous metal arms and carry him to wherever they had to be. Often when Edward was especially worn out, Alphonse would let him ride piggyback, and he would fall asleep on the way. Alphonse had liked doing that. He liked looking down in his arms and thinking fondly that he was carrying the most important person in his life. But now...

"'Smatter, Al?" Edward asked groggily behind him.

"I just want to help you, Brother," Alphonse softly replied. "When I was a suit of armor, it was so much easier. This body is so weak; I can't do anything like I used to. I can get hurt and tired and hungry too, now."

He had half expected Edward to fall back to sleep while he was talking, but Alphonse heard the sofa squeak behind him, then a soft thump as Edward dropped to the floor. Alphonse curiously turned his head, but before he could turn around properly he felt two arms wrapping around him, embracing him from the back. Edward leaned against his back, resting his head on Alphonse's shoulder. "Think I'll sleep like this for a while," he said huskily. "You're a lot softer now than you were before."

"I suppose you're right." Alphonse couldn't help smiling as he felt Edward relax against him, a warm, familiar presence wrapped all around him. Alphonse realized there had always been one thing about carrying his brother he hadn't been able to experience as a suit of armor: He had never been able to feel it.

**Fanart: holycowworshipper (dot) deviantart (dot) com / art / Embracing-from-the-back-gift-181425287**


	52. Hair Clip

**Author's Note: This one was **_**hard.**_** It has a lot more obviously Royai connotations, like "Someone I want to protect". And...neither Ed nor Al has a hair clip, so I knew this one was going to be tough. At first I was thinking along the lines of Ed using a hair clip, somehow tying in with growing out his hair and braiding it...but nothing solidified. When I have trouble like this, I try to look at it from a different angle. So, rather than trying to find some kind of serious, subtle meaning in a hair clip Ed doesn't even have, I decided to go the funny route.**

**Timeline: Postseries**

**Theme 52: Hair clip**

Winry whistled cheerfully as she ascended the stairs. She was happy today. The sun was shining, she was about to put the finishing touches on her state-of-the-art extra-durable automail arm, and best of all, the Elric brothers were staying for a whole glorious week before they'd have to go off to Central again. Winry found herself consistently surprised and delighted at how long the brothers stayed with them now that they weren't chasing after the Philosopher's Stone. She had become so used to long waits followed by two or three days when they'd show up out of the blue and turn her whole life upside-down while she scrambled to fix Edward's automail. Then they would be gone as suddenly as they had come, and she would stumble around trying to regain a semblance of normalcy.

But everything was different now. They always called before they came now, and they'd take it easy, never pressuring her to get the job done overnight so they could rush back to the library in Central or wherever else they felt they had to be. Winry much preferred this more laid-back approach; it meant she got to do everything she wanted to with Edward's automail, and she also got to see so much more of her best friends. Still, she had to keep reminding herself they were sticking around.

Winry's whistles faded away as she reached the top of the stairs and saw Alphonse standing in the hall, scratching his head. "Hey, Al!" she called, coming closer. "What're you up to?"

Alphonse's face lit up when he saw who it was. "Do you have a hair clip, Winry?" he asked eagerly.

Winry was so surprised by this question that she could only stare at him at first. "A hair clip?" She patted her hair just to be sure, but she knew for a fact that she had only done her hair up in a simple ponytail, since she'd be spending the day in the workshop. "Um...no, not on me right now."

"Oh." Aphonse's face fell again.

"But I probably have some in my room," Winry hastily added. "I'll go check." She walked past him to the door of her room, thought for a minute, then opened one of the drawers in her desk, rummaging around through necklaces, earrings, and bracelets. She didn't normally wear too many hair clips – a ponytail was usually enough for her, maybe something a little more elaborate for special occasions – but she remembered getting some for her birthday several years ago.

Finally she found one in the back of the drawer, and returned triumphantly to the waiting Alphonse. "Here you go. What did you need it for, anyway?" She raised an eyebrow when a slight blush colored Alphonse's cheeks. "It's kind of girly; I think it'll clash with your style."

"Oh, I'm not going to _wear_ it!" Alphonse hastily said, waving his hands so desperately in front of him that the clip nearly went flying. "That would be really weird!" He laughed nervously.

"Then why'd you ask for it?" Winry asked in utter consternation. She caught Alphonse's slight glance towards the door he was standing next to. It was closed. "The bathroom?"

Alphonse immediately caved in, his shoulders slumping as he mumbled, "The door's locked, and w...I don't know where the key went. I couldn't figure out what to do, but then I saw you and thought maybe I could pick the lock." Winry started to say something, but he quickly added, "I know it's a really stupid mistake to make. I was hoping no one would notice."

"No, don't worry about it," Winry assured him, suppressing the urge to laugh at the situation. "I was just going to say we could call the locksmith instead. We have another bathroom downstairs, you know."

"Um...I want to try this first," Alphonse said awkwardly, shuffling his feet.

"Okay. Good luck." Winry, having suddenly remembered why she had come up here in the first place, started back to her room. Something occurred to her, and she turned back when she'd reached the doorway. "Say, do you know where Ed is?"

Alphonse started almost guiltily and dropped the hair clip, which he had begun to insert in the lock. He scrabbled around on the floor for the clip, hiding his face as he stammered, "I-I haven't _seen_ him for a while...."

Winry wondered why Alphonse was so jumpy. "Well, if you do see him, tell him his arm's almost finished."

"R-Right."

As Winry stepped into her room, she heard whispered voices out in the hall.

"Is she gone?"

"I think so."

"Well, get me outta here fast. The tiles are starting to get _really_ boring."

"Brother, maybe next time you should be more careful about locking the door...."

Winry pressed her hand against her mouth to stifle a giggle. She grabbed the screwdriver she had come up to retrieve and contemplated how such an embarrassing episode could be turned into blackmail material.


	53. Sigh

**Author's Note: This was yet another hard one. The theme is so vague! DX I don't even remember how I finally came up with this idea anyway; I probably just imagined Al sighing and what kind of situation that would be. Then the ending occurred to me as I was about to start writing it.**

**Timeline: None**

**Theme 53: Sigh**

Most people saw Alphonse Elric as somewhat naïve and gullible, believing that there was good in everyone and letting his older brother run his whole life. Some people said to themselves that he should have more initiative, that he shouldn't let Edward command his every move.

They obviously didn't know how manipulative Alphonse could be.

When they had been children, Edward would often be reading a book when Alphonse would want to play a game. Alphonse would never say anything. He would just stand at Edward's side, holding the ball or toy he wanted to play with. He would stare at the side of Edward's face for a long time, waiting for Edward to look up. Sometimes Edward would look up as soon as he sensed Alphonse's presence; more often, it became a test to see how long he could keep reading his book and stubbornly ignoring his little brother. And just when it seemed that Edward had won, Alphonse would give a little sigh.

Edward said it was the most pathetic, plaintive sigh in existence; he didn't know how Alphonse did it. Regardless, it always snapped his concentration. He would look up, grumble a little, and snap his book shut. Then he would run off and play with Alphonse.

Alphonse even used this technique when Edward got angry with him. Edward would cross his arms, look in the other direction, and pout angrily, refusing to apologize even when he had hurt Alphonse's feelings. Alphonse would sit looking timidly at him, and sometimes the pressure of his eyes, the tension of his silence, would be enough to soften Edward's heart and make him feel bad about the things he had said. But more often, he would just grit his teeth more stubbornly than ever. And when the silence had gone unbroken for so long that sound seemed no more than a memory, Alphonse would let loose a little sigh. A sigh that seemed to say, _I guess you're never going to apologize, are you? Does this mean you hate me?_

And Edward's shoulders would slump, his scowl would unfurl, and sometimes a lump would even form in his throat. "I'm sorry, Al," he would say. "Will you forgive me?"

Alphonse would rush to his side, suddenly realizing how much their dissent had hurt him. "Of course I will."

When Alphonse's soul was trapped inside a suit of armor, he could no longer breathe, so he could no longer sigh. But Alphonse discovered that he didn't need to be so manipulative anymore. Edward seemed to be extra sensitive to his pains and desires, so Alphonse didn't even need to look at him before Edward would quickly apologize. Edward already felt so guilty that Alphonse didn't want to make things worse.

But things change when you're in danger, when lives are at stake. When Alphonse lay helpless on the floor, watching his dear brother advancing on the crowd of prisoners, ready to transmute them into the Philosopher's Stone, he knew he would have to do _something._

Edward knelt before the transmutation circle, stretching out his hands, inches away from using these people's lives to bring his brother back. He wasn't going to stop. He had made his stubborn resolve, and he wasn't backing down.

Then Alphonse made a sound like a sigh, which echoed around the tensely silent room. And Edward stopped. He hesitated, fingers quivering above the stark black lines. Then he squeezed his eyes shut. "I'm sorry, Al."


	54. O Child Sama

**Author's Note: I've said dozens of times before that I've had trouble coming up with stuff for various themes, but this one was easily the worst. I barely even understand what the theme **_**means**_**, so how am I supposed to figure out what to write? I nearly despaired of ever coming up with something – even something lame – to write, but I eventually decided to just write something about Ed's child. I wasn't satisfied with it at first, because it wasn't really about the brothers, but as I wrote it a connection started becoming clearer and clearer, so I ran with it. This is also the only chapter so far that doesn't include the words of the theme in the text somewhere.**

**Timeline: Postseries**

**Theme 54: O Child-sama**

I can still remember it like it was yesterday, the day my brother came bursting into the room with a huge grin on his face, yelling, "Winry's pregnant!"

I winced, hoping none of the neighbors could hear that. I didn't think they needed to be informed of the news in such a way. But I smiled and said, "That's great, Brother!"

Then he started gabbling away about how he was going to be a father, how he wondered whether it would be a boy or a girl, how he couldn't wait to teach it about alchemy and the world.... Frankly, he sounded like Maes Hughes, and I smiled at the old memories. He calmed down after a while, but he was in high spirits for days afterward.

But once the initial euphoria had died down, my brother started to worry. "How am I going to do this? Do I have what it takes? How can I be a father when I barely knew my own? What does it even _mean_ to be a father?" Sometimes he voiced these worries, but even when he didn't I could see them eating away at him. It hurt to watch that distracted, apprehensive look slide onto his face and know that he was saying to himself, "Everything I touch gets mangled. Will this child be any different?"

I tried to reassure him as best I could, but I don't think it helped much. Every time I would tell him not to worry, he'd look at me and remember how he made a terrible mistake that almost cost me my life. And that would just reinforce all of his fears. I felt bad about that; I hate being a living reminder of the things my brother's done wrong. I'd thought we got over that years ago, but memories are powerful things indeed.

But the day came, whether my brother worried or not. We took time off as the due date drew closer, so we were there when it happened. I sat with my brother as we listened to Winry's muffled cries of pain, and when the midwife finally said we could come in, I was right on my brother's heels.

The change on my brother's face when he saw his tiny daughter was astounding. All the tense lines of worry and guilt smoothed out. His whole body seemed to become soft and warm, radiant with barely suppressed joy. Winry handed their daughter over to him, and he cradled her in his arms, gazing at her with so much love it could take your breath away.

It was just like when he brought my body back. And, just like back then, as he sat with a person he loved lying in his arms, all his guilt just melted away.


	55. Infectious Crying

**Author's Note: Fairly simple theme. (I think my chapters are getting short, unfortunately. Maybe my subconscious wants me to write drabbles like I'm **_**supposed **_**to, lol.) Came up with this pretty quick. And I hadn't intended it, but one paragraph in particular started sounding an awful lot like my old fic "Swelling Heart." Interesting.**

**Timeline: None**

**Theme 55: Infectious crying**

Tears could be very dangerous. They made you vulnerable, exposed your weaknesses to the world. Once you started crying, you couldn't pretend anymore. You couldn't tell people that you were fine, that you weren't affected. You couldn't fool even yourself that you were strong, whole, healthy, or even normal. Tears instantly turned you into a wet-eyed, red-faced golem that people wanted to turn away from in disgust and discomfort. But you could hardly blame them. Who would want to see all the ugly, broken parts that should be kept inside? Watching someone cry was like watching someone vomit.

And the worst part of it was that when you watched someone vomit, you started to gag yourself. It was the same way with crying.

Edward Elric prided himself on being able to restrain his tears around people. When Winry, and occasionally his mother, would cry, he contained himself very well. The trick, he discovered, was to look somewhere else and tell himself he had to be strong, because he was a man and that was what men had to do: Be strong when the people they cared about were not.

And Edward _was_ strong, with a heart of metal and eyes of hardened gold. When people looked at him, the thought of tears never entered their minds.

But there was one person who could make Edward cry every time.

It was amazing. Edward could keep his composure when Winry was bawling over her parents' deaths, but when tears began trailing softly down Alphonse's cheeks at the thought of _their_ mother dying.... When Edward saw his little brother crying, his heart would swell and burst its metal bonds, sending a gush of blood up to his throat, where it would throb and send tears to his eyes. And with these infectious tears, Edward would forget all he had ever thought about crying. When he looked at his weeping brother, he wouldn't see an ugly, broken golem he wanted to run away from. He would see a soul, so precious and so dear. He wanted to heal that hurting soul, to take away the pain and wash it clean of guilt. He wanted to compress every particle of that soul's pain into tears, and he wanted to catch those tears and drink them down, take the pain onto himself and lighten that soul's burden. He would give that soul everything he had, every part of himself, pour out every last drop of blood in his body, if only it would help.

And what was even more amazing was that, even when Alphonse was in a suit of armor and couldn't cry, Edward was still affected by his tears.


	56. Skillful and Clumsy

**Author's Note: I figured out what I was going to do with this almost as soon as I read the theme. I think I definitely could have extrapolated on all of this more, but I was lazy -_-**

**Timeline: Postseries**

**Theme 56: Skillful & Clumsy**

"Never."

"What?" Edward looked up from his scrambled eggs, which he had been shoving into his mouth with great relish. Alphonse sat up in his hospital bed, with his breakfast arrayed before him on the tray that swung out from the side of the bed.

"Never going to do it," Alphonse mumbled clumsily, staring down at his eggs and toast. His speech had improved quite a bit, but he still had to work hard at enunciating properly.

"What's the matter?" Edward set his plate aside and scooted his chair closer to the bed.

"Fingers won't work," Alphonse mumbled, demonstrating this by sluggishly grasping the handle of his spoon with his fist, like a small child. Using his other hand, he tried to position the spoon properly between his fingers, but when he did he lost his grip on it and the spoon clattered back onto the tray. "Can't do anything," Alphonse said, letting his hands fall back into his lap. "So clumsy."

"Don't worry about it," Edward said, picking up the spoon he'd dropped. "You'll get used to your body again. Remember? You thought you'd never get used to your armor either."

Edward remembered how clumsy Alphonse had been at first. He was always breaking things, miscalculating how tightly he was gripping a pencil or sitting down too hard in a chair. He couldn't feel, so he had no way of gauging these things except by sight and sound. But somehow he had adjusted to this. Edward couldn't fathom how anyone could live like that, but Alphonse had once told him he watched to see how tightly his fingers were gripping something, or listened for creaks to figure out when to stop putting his weight down on a chair.

In a similar manner, Edward had struggled with making his automail obey him. At first, walking with an automail leg was like trying to walk when one leg was asleep. And his whole right arm felt like it was in a thick rubber glove that was clumsy and allowed no sensation. He could move it, and he could tell when it moved, but he couldn't feel anything. He discovered that he couldn't tell when or where his fingers moved, which made handling things like spoons very difficult indeed. But he had learned to deal with it too. Slowly, his brain had rewired itself to adjust to a new kind of limb.

And they both had gained such a mastery over their bodies that they could fight and leap around just as gracefully as ever.

But Edward didn't voice any of the things he was thinking. They flashed briefly through his mind, too fast and too confused for him to figure out how to say anything.

"Don't worry," Edward said again. "Sometimes, you can be skillful and clumsy at the same time." He took Alphonse's hand, gently curled his fingers around the spoon, and guided his little brother's hand as he scooped up the eggs and began to eat.


	57. Feigning Sleep

**Author's Note: I was getting tired of short pieces, and **_**especially**_** tired of chapters about sleeping. So I decided to do something different with this one: one of my many fleeting ideas for how the story could end. I seriously doubt it would ever have happened quite like this, nor would I have liked it very much if it had, but hey. It's an idea, anyway.**

**Timeline: AU of Chapter 86/Episode 47-ish  
**

**Theme 57: Feigning sleep**

Alphonse Elric had always enjoyed his sleep. As a child, he was always a late riser, and hardly ever complained when it was naptime. Unlike his brother, who was up and ready to go upon waking, Alphonse was bleary-eyed and nearly incoherent for quite a while when he woke up. Understandably, once his soul was bonded to the suit of armor and he discovered that he could no longer sleep, he was more dismayed than anyone could guess. Though Ed often joked that he was lucky he was never in danger of drooling or talking in his sleep, Alphonse hated it. It was yet another blow to his identity, yet another reason to doubt he was human. When he could sleep, the nights seemed so short and restful. But now, they dragged on and on, unbearable in their darkness and silence.

That was why he pretended. It started as an attempt to keep any suspicions the Tuckers had at bay while they lived with them. Alphonse lay down on the bed provided for him every night and pulled the covers up as far as he could, and if he tried really hard, he could almost pretend he was drifting off to sleep. Once Edward told him he didn't have to do that; no one would notice if he kept on studying through the night. But Alphonse murmured, "If I can't pretend, then what do I have left?" and that was the end of that. Always after that, Edward would book a room with two beds whenever they stopped at a hotel, and Alphonse would always slide under the covers as best as his large body would allow. It was a tenuous thread holding him to humanity, and he was loath to break it.

Years later, Alphonse experienced a strange thing. His armor began to reject his soul, just a little bit at a time, and never for very long. In those times, his vision would fade to white, and he would be outside his metal body, just floating along in an empty state of being. Sometimes he would see glimmers of things, like ephemeral dreams that were forgotten as soon as they began. Then he would crash back to reality.

It was almost like sleeping. But rather than feeling elation to be able to doze off with his soul, Alphonse felt nothing but terror. This was something he had been dreading for five years. Because if his soul left the armor entirely, then he would be gone. He would leave his brother's side, and who knew if he would ever make it back?

"Yes, that's right," Pride said in a deceptively soothing voice, bending over Alphonse. The Homunculus in the form of a child rested one small foot on Alphonse's breastplate and leered down at him, his tendrils of darkness holding Alphonse down. "Go to sleep, little alchemist."

Alphonse fought with everything he had to sit up, to keep his soul here where it was needed. Pride's words made him think of his brother, how his brother would react if the Homunculus said that to him. _Yes,_ he thought desperately. _I have to stay here...for my brother._ But his vision was blurring and shrinking, and Pride's taunting voice was so soothing, like a lullaby...

He had never wanted to fall asleep less.

* * *

Edward saw what Pride was going to do a few seconds before he did, and he threw himself forward, but it was already too late. "_AAAAALLLLL!_" he screamed at the top of his lungs.

Pride spared a brief smirk in Edward's direction before he smashed his heel into the blood seal. He ground his heel back and forth with sadistic pleasure, grinning innocently at Edward.

Edward skidded to a horrified halt, hearing every crack and crunch as the metal broke under Pride's foot. It felt as though Pride had smashed it into Edward's heart, twisting and wrenching it agonizingly. Edward found he could do nothing but stare, trembling all the while, at Alphonse's still body. It lay so peacefully on the ground, as if he had just fallen asleep...

Hohenheim stepped up next to his son. "That," he said icily to the Homunculus, "was a mistake."

At his father's words, rage suddenly shot through Edward's whole body. Grinding his teeth, he wordlessly reached out and grabbed his father's hand. He slammed his foot onto the ground, and in his desperation and rage his observations of his father's alchemy clicked into place. Hundreds of spikes burst from the ground, thrusting at Pride. The Homunculus tried to dodge, but he was a second too late. The spikes impaled him, but he merely spat out a mouthful of blood and let himself regenerate.

Hohenheim gripped Edward's hand, and together they continued their attack. Hohenheim was the living Philosopher's Stone, so he had an almost limitless source of energy. Pride's arms of darkness sliced away at the spikes Edward and Hohenheim sent his way, but he was steadily driven back. Edward stepped up the attack, pouring enormous amounts of energy at Pride, till not even the Homunculus could withstand it. Pride desperately tried to defend himself, but he died again and again and again, until finally, he fell to the ground and could no longer get back up.

The air was tense with the residue of so much alchemical energy, and the ground was torn from the battle. The others had quickly retreated once the battle had started, and now they began to peek around tree trunks to see if the coast was clear. But Edward was oblivious to everything. He dropped his father's hand and raced to the broken suit of armor, lying amongst the wreckage. He stumbled over a large chunk of earth and fell to his knees beside what had once been his little brother.

The armor was split down the middle of the back, cracked and shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. Edward couldn't even see a bit of his blood on those metal shards. His heart throbbing, he clapped his hands together and placed them against the metal, even though he knew it would do no good. The metal molded seamlessly together, but nothing could mend that blood seal. Nothing could bring Alphonse's soul back.

"No!" Edward shouted, banging his fist against the empty steel. He picked up Alphonse's helmet, and all the rage and adrenaline seeped out of him. Alphonse always looked out of those eyeholes... And sometimes, when he pretended to sleep, he would make his glowing eyes turn dark. Edward wished with all his heart that he could believe Alphonse was just asleep, that he had finally found a way to do so in his armor. "Come on, Al," he said, his voice breaking. "Wake up. Alphonse...please wake up..." But Alphonse wasn't feigning sleep this time.

He felt a pressure on his shoulder, and bowed his head over the helmet because he knew it was Hohenheim. He could taste the bitter irony of this situation: Hohenheim was the Philosopher's Stone, and he could have given Alphonse his body back. But now Alphonse's soul was gone, and they had no way of knowing where it was, or if it had simply disappeared into thin air.

At that thought, Edward's whole body shook with a dry sob.

A strong arm wrapped around his shoulders, and suddenly Edward discovered he didn't care anymore. He didn't care who his father was or what he'd done or how infuriating he was. Edward clutched the helmet in one arm, and with the other he clung to his father with everything he had, crying as though he was a little child again and his father had never left.

Suddenly Edward heard an all-too-familiar creaking sound, one that had haunted his nightmares for years. Tearing himself away from Hohenheim, Edward whirled around to find the massive Doors opening behind him. Terror clutched at him, but the Doors of Truth weren't here for him this time.

A familiar golden-haired teenage boy pushed his way out of the doors with a harsh scream and collapsed onto the ground. The doors vanished as soon as they swung closed, but Edward's attention was riveted to the boy lying, naked and bloody, on the ground several feet away.

For a moment, Edward only sat there, hardly daring to believe his eyes. Then he scrambled over to the body on hands and knees, dropping the helmet with a clatter. He knelt over the boy, trying to decide whether he should be overjoyed or horrified.

It was Alphonse, all right. It was the same familiar, emaciated body he had seen in the Doors before. But while Alphonse's body had been starved but whole the last time he had seen it, now he was missing an arm and a leg, blood gushing from the wounds as he breathed raggedly. "Al?" Edward asked shakily.

Alphonse slowly opened his eyes and gave his brother a pained smile. "It hurts...more than...I thought it would," he gasped.

"Don't try to talk," Edward said hastily, pulling off his coat. "We've got to stop the bl-"

Before he could attempt to craft a makeshift bandage, Hohenheim was at his side, placing one hand gently over the stump of Alphonse's arm, the other over his leg. A brief light flashed, and when he drew his hands away the wounds had closed. "I cannot bring back what you gave as toll," he said sadly. "But at least I can stop the bleeding."

"Thanks, Dad," Alphonse said weakly.

Finding his coat still in his hands, Edward quickly covered Alphonse, who was shivering. Hohenheim helped him wrap Alphonse up, and when they had finished, Alphonse began to speak again.

"My soul went...right back to my body," he said laboriously. "In the Doors. I tried...to get out...but that Truth guy said...I had to pay a toll. Said...it liked...irony..."

"Shhh," Edward soothed, gathering his little brother back into his arms. "Just rest now. Look, you got your body back."

"Oh, Brother," Alphonse murmured weakly, "I'm so sorry. Now...I can't help you..."

"Don't be stupid," Edward said roughly, trying to get his feet under him so he could carry his brother to shelter. "We're gonna go and knock that Father guy around a bit, but we'll all be back soon. You just rest up and get better for when I come back."

Suddenly Edward felt Hohenheim's arms around him again. Before Edward could protest, Hohenheim lifted both of his sons into his arms and began to carry them slowly away from the battlefield. Edward was about to protest hotly when Alphonse sighed and closed his eyes with a smile.

"I finally woke up."


	58. Before Falling Asleep

**Author's Note: When I saw this theme, I knew the basic idea of what I wanted to do – have them say something to each other just before falling asleep. But what should they say? Then I remembered a line from Secondhand Serenade's "Your Call" that I've wanted to use for a while. I think it fit okay. The first section was inspired by remembering a part of NewMoonFlicker's fic "Breathe With Me", which says that when the brothers were grieving the death of their mother and Al was crying inconsolably, Ed said, "It's all right, baby, it's all right" or something like that. The second section was inspired by an experience I had myself, when on a whirlwind trip for three weeks. Every day and every night I was either traveling or socializing, and being an introvert that just completely exhausted me. I finally collapsed one day in the third week, after walking for quite a ways in the rain – I woke up the next morning and just felt so disgusting all over. I wish I had a little brother like Al.**

**Timeline: Preseries; postseries**

**Theme 58: Before falling asleep**

"You boys want to sleep here tonight?" Granny Pinako asked gently after they had pushed the food around on their plates long enough to convince her they weren't hungry.

Alphonse just shook his head, and Edward said quietly, "Not really."

They left as soon as Granny Pinako gave them a flashlight so they wouldn't have to pick their way back in the dark. The two of them made their way back to their house in complete silence. There was nothing to say. The house seemed cold and quiet, even after they'd flicked on the lights and automatically climbed the stairs to get ready for bed. For the first time in their lives, they didn't have to be told to hang up their nice clothes in the closet, but there was no one to exclaim in surprise and delight, and that made everything so much sadder.

Edward brushed his teeth out of habit, gazing glumly at his reflection, not even blinking when a trickle of toothpaste trailed down from the corner of his mouth. But after he was finished in the bathroom and he stepped out into the hall, he heard a faint sound in this dead, silent house. The sound was coming from the bedroom at the end of the hall, and Edward numbly made his way to the door.

Alphonse lay on his stomach on the big double bed, wearing the plaid pajamas that had once been Edward's. He was crying into one of the pillows at the head of the bed. Edward slowly advanced into the room, hearing the sound of his own sorrow. Somehow, all through the funeral, he hadn't been able to cry. Alphonse, Winry, and even old Granny had cried, but he couldn't shed a tear. But even when Alphonse had cried at the newly-dug grave, it had been just half stifled sniffles and quiet tears. Now Alphonse's whole body heaved with anguish.

Edward felt his heart crumbling to pieces as he climbed up onto the tall bed and crawled over to his brother's side. "Al," he said brokenly, touching him on the shoulder.

Alphonse turned his head enough to sob out, "She's g-gone! How can I l-live tomorrow? What am I gonna d-do without her? Who's gonna love me now?"

"Oh, Al…." Edward lay down next to his little brother, pressing their foreheads together and keeping his hand on Alphonse's back. He didn't know what to say, because what _could_ he say to that? There was no way of understanding this, no way to make it easier to bear. And he wanted to take all the pain Alphonse was feeling away, but something in him knew this was a pain both of them would carry forever.

He closed his eyes and felt tears run down his cheeks as well. "Don't worry, Alphonse," he murmured, fighting to keep his voice steady. "I'm always gonna be here for you."

Alphonse's sobs quieted, and he sniffled softly as he listened to his brother's words.

"I'll take care of you. Don't worry. We're gonna be fine. We've got each other. I'm here for you." He was lulling both of them to sleep, but just before they succumbed, he whispered, "I was born to love you."

* * *

It wasn't supposed to be like this. When he brought his brother's body back and they returned to Risenpool, everything was supposed to be perfect, their well-deserved happily ever after. But the euphoria of seeing his little brother again had faded away, and after the wonderful moments when Winry and Granny Pinako greeted them with wonder and excitement, everything had inexplicably slumped. Edward realized he had never imagined anything beyond the smiles on everyone's faces, but he had expected it to be more…. _What, exactly?_ he asked himself in irritation. Why wasn't he happy to be back home at last?

Maybe it was because of the rain. Somehow, whenever he had imagined coming back home, he had imagined it to be bright and sunny, to reflect his happiness. But it had been grey skies all the way from Central, and halfway along the road from the station the skies had opened up in a sudden downpour. This was normal October weather for Risenpool, but Edward hadn't thought to bring out their coats, so he and Alphonse had walked most of the way in the rain. By the time they had reached the shelter of the Rockbells' porch, they were soaked to the skin.

And after the initial excitement as Winry and Granny Pinako greeted them, they had rushed Alphonse into the living room to dry by the fire and tell them all about what had happened. They had left Edward dripping on the doormat next to their suitcases. Edward brought their luggage upstairs, and now he stood in the room he always shared with Alphonse. He was cold and damp, his head pounded with a splitting headache that had started on the train, his automail ports ached as they always did in bad weather, and he just felt so sick and tired all over that the only thing he felt like doing was flopping down on his bed and being miserable.

But the beds weren't made yet. As usual, he hadn't called to tell the Rockbells they were coming, but usually it didn't matter because Granny would have the beds ready by nightfall. Of course she wouldn't have known to get them ready yet, but somehow the sight of the bare mattresses made Edward feel invisible. Like he didn't even matter.

Edward's head gave a particularly painful throb, and he rubbed his temples as he made himself move. Standing around wasn't going to help. First he changed out of his sopping clothes into something dry, then he went to the hall closet. He pulled out sheets and blankets for the two beds, then proceeded to make the one he always slept in. He tucked in the corners the way his mother had taught him, but whenever he straightened up from a corner his whole body would throb with pain. The bed looked so soft and inviting, but his eyes strayed to the other bed. He battled with himself for a moment, but eventually he sighed and began to make Alphonse's bed as well. No sense leaving it for someone else to have to worry about. He doubted Alphonse would be able to do the job very well either; he was still a little clumsy with his hands.

By the time he had finished Alphonse's bed, he felt absolutely miserable. He wanted to curl up and die. His outside felt cold and clammy, but inside was all feverish and disgusting. He gratefully fell into his bed, pulling up the covers and sinking into the pillow.

But as soon as he settled down, his eyes popped back open. The pain in his head hadn't lessened at all; he could feel it with every pulse of his blood. And the ache in his shoulder and thigh were worse than ever. He curled over onto his side, one hand clutching his shoulder while the other pressed against his forehead. Didn't help much.

Suddenly he heard a burst of laughter from downstairs. He felt very alone up here in the dim light filtering through the window. Alone and forgotten. The other inhabitants of the house were in a different world from him – one filled with light and cheerfulness and warmth. He wallowed in self-pity for a while, listening to the chatter of voices from downstairs, punctuated every now and then by laughter. He closed his eyes, but he couldn't sleep.

"Brother?" The voice was a whisper, coming from the direction of the door.

Edward opened his eyes, listening to his brother padding softly across the room. He felt Alphonse bend over him, but he just kept staring at the wall.

"You're awake?" Alphonse asked quietly.

"Not like I can go to sleep with that racket you're making downstairs."

Alphonse disappeared again, and Edward rolled onto his back, squeezing his eyes shut when his head protested the movement. He could hear Winry singing downstairs, and for a moment the pain lifted. _She's got a pretty voice,_ he thought. Then she hit a particularly high note and he grimaced again.

Suddenly a hand was gently pushing both of his aside. Edward opened his eyes in surprise to see that Alphonse was there again, carefully placing a cloth over his shoulder. When it was in place, he pulled the covers down and rolled up Edward's pant leg enough to place another on his knee. Then Alphonse pulled the covers back up, tucked them carefully under his chin, and gently put the third cloth on Edward's forehead. It was warm and damp, soothing the aches remarkably well.

"H-How did you know-"

Alphonse chuckled, carefully pulled Edward's braid out from under him and began to undo it. "Come on, Brother. What do you take me for?"

The pain had already begun to ebb away, and sleepiness took its place. "Thanks."

A trickle of warm water ran from the cloth down the side of Edward's face; Alphonse brushed it away before it could drop in his ear. Then he kept on smoothing Edward's hair back from his face, reaching behind his neck and undoing the top of the braid, smoothing his long hair to the side so it wouldn't tickle Edward's neck. "You're exhausted, aren't you? For the past month, you've been working so hard to get me back to normal. And you hardly sleep at all, because you're taking care of me. It's time for you to rest now, Brother. You don't have to worry about me anymore – though I know you will. But this time, let me take care of you instead. Just sleep, Brother. Sleep."

Alphonse's steady murmur was like a lullaby in Edward's ears, and it slowly and effectively lulled him to sleep. But just before falling asleep, Edward heard his brother's voice whisper in his ear, "I was born to love you."


	59. Gift

**Author's Note: I often find that the people I love most are the ones that are hardest to choose gifts for. What can you give them to show how much they mean to you? I always have a similar problem coming up with presents Al could give Ed. Ed's somewhat easier – he can give things like a cat, or his coat, or any number of other precious and meaningful things. But, as you all know from "Store-lined streets", Al has me stumped. I was worried about this theme at first, because I'd already done a 'Christmas chapter', if you will. But as I got to thinking about it, I realized there was one gift I hadn't made them give each other yet. This also ties in with my after-first-anime-but-no-CoS storyline, which encompasses most of my fics that take place after the story and that don't have one of the brothers dying. (Sadly enough, that rules out quite a few.)**

**Timeline: Shortly after "Conversation"**

**Theme 59: Gift**

Alphonse Elric woke up wondering why he already felt so happy. This was more than just the customary leap in his stomach as he realized he had just slept the whole night through. Even now, when he had been sleeping for three years, the novelty hadn't worn off yet. But this was different – an almost-giddy excitement, like-

And then he remembered. It was Christmas. No sooner had he realized this than the door to the bedroom banged open, and a blurred figure crashed through the morning tranquility. "Hey, sleepyhead!" the intruder shouted. Alphonse's bed gave a long-suffering groan of protest as it sagged suddenly with the extra weight.

Alphonse smiled bemusedly up at his older brother, who jumped vigorously on the bed with a wide grin.

"Don't just sit there!" Edward laughed, leaping up and touching the ceiling. "It's nine o'clock already!"

"You were the one who insisted on staying up till midnight," Alphonse yawned, rolling out of bed before Edward could lose his balance and fall on top of him.

"Yeah, but it's Christmas!" Edward jumped once more on the creaking bed, leaping off at the apex of his jump and landing with a crash that Alphonse could feel through the floorboards.

Alphonse knew Edward was especially happy when his older brother grabbed his hands and spun about the room, belting out, "Deck the halls with boughs of holly, fa la la la la..." slightly breathless and off-key. Alphonse laughed and pulled himself away, feeling his brother's infectious excitement beginning to fill him with euphoria.

"Hurry up and get dressed, you lazybones!" Edward said, punching him lightly on the arm. "Winry says we can't eat until you do, and I'm _starving!_" Then he skipped out of the room, singing again. "'Tis the season to something-something, blah blah blah blah...."

Shaking his head with a chuckle, Alphonse gathered his things together and went to take a shower. He had taken an overnight train to get from Dublith to Central, and hadn't had much of a chance to freshen up in the three days since. He supposed it probably wasn't such a good idea to show up for his State Alchemist exam unwashed and living on just a few hours' sleep, but he had been given special permission to sit the exam then rather than the usual schedule in February, and there hadn't been time for anything else. Usually candidates participated in the three parts over a period of several weeks, giving them a chance to relax and study in between. Due to the unusual circumstances of Alphonse's exam, he had to take the three parts in three consecutive days.

Alphonse closed his eyes and let out a slow breath as the stream of warm water hit his head. Taking the test that way was more stressful than it had been the first time, when everything had hinged on the outcome. Studying with their alchemy teacher had helped, and he had learned a lot of things the past year – about alchemy, about the world, about himself. But it just wasn't the same without his brother. It had been so lonely, studying in Master's house and knowing that Edward was off doing missions alone. That didn't stop him from learning and improving. It just made him want to finish more quickly than ever.

And somehow, he had made it through the three strenuous days of the exam, even when he was exhausted from the long train ride there and the sleepless nights in between, and he was rewarded at noon on the third day, when he was summoned to the Fuhrer's office and presented with a silver watch of his own, and his State Alchemist name: The Torn Soul Alchemist.

But what was even better than that was meeting up with his brother and Winry at the train station so they could all go back to Risenpool together. He had been sitting on a bench in a dazed, exhausted stupor when he suddenly heard a shout rising above the babble of travelers: "THERE HE IS! IT'S HIM, IT'S HIM, IT'S HIM!" And everyone had been staring, but neither of them cared, and they'd thrown themselves into each other's arms with reckless abandon.

Alphonse smiled contentedly, stepping out of the shower to hear the indistinct sounds of a good-natured quarrel from the kitchen – something about milk, he guessed. Edward and Winry had gotten engaged while he'd been gone. Edward hadn't even told him until yesterday on the train here, and knowing that he'd missed something so important had made Alphonse feel a little left out. He wondered if Edward had had anyone to talk to about it, anyone to share his excitement with. Alphonse wished he could have been there to see Edward burst into the room, grinning and flushed bright red, showing off his manly golden ring.

Alphonse laughed to himself and stepped out of the bathroom. He was just happy the two of them had finally come to their senses and realized what had been painfully obvious to him for years. When he reached the top of the stairs, he paused. It was very quiet now, all traces of the argument gone. He heard Winry giggle a little.

Clearing his throat loudly and making sure to put extra weight on the creaky stair, Alphonse clomped down the stairs as loudly as he could, to warn the others in case they were doing something embarrassing. When he entered the kitchen, Winry was busily flipping pancakes, and Edward sat at the table with a slightly disgruntled expression on his face. On the table before him sat an empty glass with a few last drops of milk left in it. When Edward saw him, he leapt to his feet with a grin. "Well, look who decided to show up!" he teased, ruffling the hair that Alphonse had just combed. "Sheesh, Al, you take longer than _Winry,_ and that's saying something!"

"Oh, shut up!" Winry laughed, swatting at him with the spatula.

The pancakes were delicious, and after breakfast they all went out and played in the snow like they had as children. They started off with snowmen and snow angels, until Edward dropped a handful of snow down the back of Winry's shirt and instigated a three-way snowball fight.

The three of them stumbled back into the house hours later, breathless and wet. Edward stoked the fire, Winry made hot chocolate, and soon they were relaxing and talking about past Christmases. Edward and Winry sat on the couch, and Alphonse curled up on the floor, resting his head sleepily on his brother's knee. He gently wrapped his arm around Edward's leg – his right leg, his flesh leg – and basked in his brother's warmth as much as the fire's.

They stayed that way for a while, until Edward's stomach growled loudly and the tranquility was broken again. Winry laughed and got up to get lunch, and for a few minutes the brothers were alone. Edward reached over with his left hand and laid it on Alphonse's head, rubbing it just slightly. It was as if he was saying, _I'm so glad to have you back, little brother._

Then they both stood up and went to help Winry.

* * *

They were finally sitting down to open presents. There weren't many, because most of Edward and Alphonse's friends had sent their gifts to their address in Central. The brothers would have a happy ending to this holiday once they got back.

Alphonse realized, as he opened Winry's gift of a catnip toy for Wobbles, that this was the first Christmas they had spent in Risenpool for years. Since they were children, in fact. While they had searched for the Philosopher's Stone, they had never taken the time to celebrate holidays. And for the last few years after they had brought Alphonse's body back, they had always stayed in Central for one reason or another. Last year, Alphonse had celebrated with the Curtises.

But this was the way Christmas was meant to be. Spent with family, the day filled with excitement and peace. Receiving presents from the people you cared about the most....

Alphonse tore away the wrapping paper on the gift from his brother, and his jaw slowly dropped open. Sitting innocuously in a little box was an old, slightly battered silver watch. Alphonse reverently pulled the watch out, feeling its heavy weight and cool, smooth surface coated in miniscule nicks and dents. The military symbol on the front was a little worn from years of rubbing against the cloth of Edward's pocket. With shaking fingers, Alphonse opened the pocketwatch, which had once been sealed tightly.

The words had been etched so deeply into the inside of the cover that they would never be worn away: _Don't Forget 3 Oct. 10._

Alphonse ran his fingers over the words, over the face of the clock that would never work again. He knew the significance of those words. The third of October was the day they had burned their house to the ground and started on their journey to reclaim what they had lost. Alphonse gently closed the watch again and looked up to find his brother gazing at him.

Edward wasn't smiling, but there was a sweet tenderness about his face. "It was the sign of my weakness," he said softly.

With those words, Alphonse found himself drowning in Edward's eyes. For any State Alchemist, their pocketwatch was their most prized possession. It was given to them by the military, the symbol of their skill and position. It amplified their alchemy and opened many doors. Nearly everyone showed at least outward respect for someone with a silver watch. For a State Alchemist, their silver watch embodied all the power and ambition they had.

But for Edward, it was even more. He had engraved a reminder to himself in it, a reminder of the pain of all his mistakes, a reminder of everything he hoped to gain, a reminder that there was no turning back. When Edward looked at those words, what did he think? As Alphonse looked into those burning gold eyes, he realized that Edward thought of him. Alphonse.

_Don't forget my brother, _the watch seemed to chime. _Don't forget that I hurt him. Don't forget that I can never make it up to him, not as long as I live. Don't forget that I'll keep on trying anyway, because I have to. Because he's my little brother._

Alphonse closed his fingers around the watch and held it to his heart. Because that was what Edward had given him, and he could nearly hear it beating in time with his own.

He let out a soft, choked chuckle and said, "Great minds think alike, huh? Open your present."

Looking puzzled, Edward ripped the paper off a roundish present, Alphonse's gift to him. He stared at it in his lap for a moment, then started to laugh. Soon his weak laughter was overcome with strange, hiccuping sobs. Winry worriedly asked him what was wrong, and he held the shiny new watch up for her to see. On the inside was etched, deeply, indelibly, in Alphonse's hand: _Always Remember 3 Oct. 15._

Alphonse smiled as Edward tried to figure out if he wanted to laugh or cry. He had never said anything, but Edward had always intended to use the Stone on Alphonse on the third of October. He hadn't mentioned it that day, but Alphonse already knew. And he wanted to let Edward _know_ that he had figured it out.

_Always remember, big brother,_ he wanted to say. _Always remember that you succeeded. Always remember that I've forgiven you for everything, whether it really was your fault or not. Always remember that no matter what happens, I'll always care for you, and you'll always care for me, because love – real love – doesn't go away. Because you're my big brother._

Alphonse found tears pooling in his eyes as Edward tried to control himself. "It's the sign of my strength."


	60. At the Window

**Author's Note: As usual, I was at a loss when I first saw the prompt. It took me a long time to think of anything to do with windows, but then out of the blue I remembered the saying, "the eyes are the windows of the soul". I merged that with something that happened to a minor character in Christopher Paolini's **_**Brisingr **_**(which I was reading at the time), and out spewed this monster of a chapter. And I mean **_**monster.**_** If this was a fic by itself, I think I would rate it M for blood, gore, torture, and psychological torment. I did not write this lightly. I pondered this for a long time, before, during, and after writing it. I, at least, find this a very painful chapter, one of the most painful chapters in the whole fic. Some of you might think I enjoy torturing these characters, but if I do, it's only because through torment I can expose the brothers' bond even more intimately than when they are at peace.**

**Timeline: AU, splitting off from either manga or anime after they get the Stone**

**Theme 60: At the window**

_For Fran - I don't know where you are, but I've never forgotten you._**  
**

They say the eyes are the windows of the soul. Does that mean my soul's gone?

It's kind of funny, actually. Through all of this, even when I lost everything I thought was an inseparable part of me, when every last sense was stripped away, leaving me in a void, sight was the one sense I took for granted. I concentrated so hard on how awful it was to never smell, never feel again, that I completely forgot I was still able to see. I never valued it enough, never reveled in the colors and shapes of the world. And now, the one sense I thought was safe is gone, while I have all the others.

I can still remember the first thing I saw the first time I opened my eyes in my new body: My brother, bending over me with the hugest grin on his face. My memories of all the other things I've seen have blurred and faded with time, but that memory has always been sharp and bright. My brother's face is the only one I can really remember, because his was the last one I saw. I'm glad of that, because his face always brings comfort to me. The look on his face when he looked down at me after using my Philosopher's Stone... How could I ever forget that? His face was filled with such joy, such tenderness. Whenever I hear a smile in his voice now, I imagine that look. It makes the darkness of my life a little bit brighter.

When I opened my eyes in my new body, that was the first time I'd felt him in years, too. The first time I'd smelled him, the first time his voice didn't vibrate my helmet. It was the happiest moment of my life.

"Oh, Al," my brother murmured, caressing my cheek with his hand and letting me revel in the feeling of skin on skin. "Your eyes...they're just like I remember."

And I understood the significance of his words. For years, my eyes had been red and glowing, so unlike my grey human eyes. I guess my brother missed that, because the eyes are the windows of the soul. And red eyes are very hard to see through.

But our time of bliss was cut short. My brother had just finished dressing me in some of his clothes when we heard a commotion in the distance. My brother glanced out the window, hissed, "The Homunculi!" and shoved me into my old suit of armor. I couldn't control my muscles very well yet, so I couldn't protest. He closed the armor around me, enclosing me in darkness. The last thing I saw was him looking at me through the top of the armor. "You'll be safe here!" he said desperately, then jammed the helmet on and disappeared from my sight. Forever.

I heard every bit of the fight that followed. I heard the Homunculi and my brother shouting at each other, and there were horrible crashes and grunts and the crackling of alchemy. It was terrifying, but I couldn't move or make a sound, even if I'd wanted to.

Then I heard a horribly familiar voice right next to me. "Well, lookee here," it sneered. "Hiding back here, are you, Alphonse? I would've thought you'd rush out to help the pipsqueak over there."

"Who're you calling a- YOU GET AWAY FROM AL RIGHT NOW!" Fear entered my brother's voice then. No – terror.

The armor rose, and suddenly began to bounce and jostle, as though someone was running with the armor over their shoulder. I recognized the voice; I knew who it was: Envy.

Envy carried me a long way, soon leaving my brother's furious screams behind. He carried me for a long way, then finally dumped me unceremoniously onto the ground, somewhere with a loud echo. "Not real talkative today, are you?" Envy said, and I heard rather than saw him pull the helmet off. He must've been able to see better than I could in the almost pitch darkness, because he gave a low whistle and said, "In the flesh! Your brother's really something, kid."

Then he hauled me out of the armor, and I couldn't struggle against his grip. He shackled my hands to the wall with manacles that seemed to have been there already, then left me slumped against the wall, my arms held over my head. I heard his bare feet padding across the floor, and I heard a heavy door opening and slamming shut, but I saw nothing. Wherever I was, there were no windows or lights, no source of illumination I could find. I could only see vague lumps in the darkness. I was alone with my terror.

But Envy soon returned. I could hardly see him, but I could hear him plainly when he said, "My master says we need to keep you alive for now, to lure your precious brother here. But...that doesn't mean you have to remain intact...does it?"

I don't remember everything that happened after that. The fear and pain has muddled everything together in my head, turning that time into a senseless jumble of moments that make up a memory of hell. I don't know when it happened, whether it was the first thing Envy did or whether he waited a while, but I remember the pain when he took my sight from me. He sharpened his fingers into points, and painstakingly carved out my eyes. He did them one by one, slowly, so I could feel every separate moment of pain. I screamed and tried to pull away from him, but the shackles and his immovable fingers kept me in place.

That was just the beginning of what he did to me. He said it was payback for all the trouble we'd caused, my brother and I, and he cackled as he crowed that he loved watching humans squirm like insects. He beat me, he bruised and tore open my flesh, grinding dirt into my wounds and letting them fester. When he brought me food to keep me alive, he shoved it into my mouth and smeared it over my face and up my nose and made me gag and vomit it all up again, making me even filthier than before.

But in a way, those weren't the worst of my torments. When he got bored of physically abusing me, he'd go away for a few minutes, then return in the guise of someone else. Of course, I couldn't see him, but Envy could mimic voices as well as faces. He would mimic Colonel Mustang, or Lieutenant Hawkeye, or Master, or Mr. Hughes, or even Winry. He would have them first speak in soothing or worried tones and say they were here to rescue me, but just when I'd got my hopes up they'd start ridiculing me, spouting hateful words that wounded me more than anything else Envy did.

But the worst thing of all was when he imitated my brother. He had my brother's voice and mannerisms down exactly, and I so hoped for my brother to come rescue me that I believed it was really him the first twelve times Envy did it. Envy would say gently, "Don't worry, Al. It's going to be all right. I'm gonna get you out of here."

And I wouldn't believe him for a while, but he would give me proof. He would say, "Remember? I promised I'd get your body back, and now I promise I'll take care of you." After the first few times I even tried calling him short, and Envy blew up as soon as the words left my lips, spouting angry sentences as creative as my brother's. And hope would fill my heart. I would really think it was him.

But then Envy would start to say hateful things, using my brother's voice. And sometimes I realized it wasn't my brother, but even so it hurt to hear such things in a voice exactly like my brother's. He would say that I was a burden, a nuisance, a thorn in his side. He'd say that he hated me, that he'd never loved me, that he'd only kept me around to further his own purposes. Then he'd start to hit me and smack me around like Envy always did, but it was my brother's hands and my brother's voice and even my brother's smell.

And it shattered me. Envy was a monster who threw himself at the window of my soul, cracking it and breaking it, snapping at me and trying to devour me. So to protect myself, I boarded up that window. And sometimes he would still break through and pierce me, but it was better than being torn to bits.

I had no way of knowing how long I was trapped in that prison. People told me later it was a week, but for me it was an eternity. Homunculi don't need to sleep, so Envy hardly let me sleep either. I was used to not sleeping, but not to being tired. And the pain Envy inflicted left me exhausted.

My brother told me later how desperately he looked for me. He hardly slept either, searching for the Homunculi's lair deep beneath Central. But I knew nothing of that. I was trapped in torment as surely as I was shackled to the wall. I didn't know that my brother and all our closest friends were above my head, fighting our foes – and winning. All I knew was that the hours were dragging out, and Envy still hadn't come back to start his torments again. I allowed myself to fall into an uneasy slumber.

Then the door to my cell banged open, and I woke with a jolt of dread. I heard footsteps approaching, and I shrunk back against the wall, making myself as small as I could.

"Al?"

I let out a low moan. There was Envy again, ready to torture me with the one person who loved me most.

"Don't worry, Al, I've got you now."

I could hear him moving closer, but I turned away as far as I could and whimpered, "No...please, don't...please..."

"Shh, it's okay, Al, it's me."

He was close enough that I could feel his breath, and I let out a dry sob. Then I felt his hands on my arms, and my breath sped up in anticipation of the pain. I was breathing as hard as if I was running, but I couldn't seem to get enough air.

Then Envy unfastened my arms, letting them flop down beside me. Well, this was new. He hadn't tormented me with a taste of freedom yet. But it was too late; I already knew this freedom would only hurt in the end. Then Envy picked me up, and I moaned in pain, both from my unhealed wounds and the torture it was to feel my brother's arms around me and know they were really Envy's. Envy carried me for a while, till I could tell from the sound of his footsteps we were in a different room. Then he set me down and I heard a fumbling sound, then a flick like a light switch being turned on.

"Oh my Go..." Envy's whisper sounded shocked, horrified, but I didn't buy it. He was an excellent actor. "Al...your eyes...your...your..."

"Stop," I moaned. "Please, just stop. Haven't you...done enough already?"

Envy pretended not to know what I meant, just like all those other times. "What?"

"I know that's you, Envy. Stop pretending. You've already hurt me enough..."

Envy swore. Probably angry I'd caught on so quickly this time and spoiled his fun. "Is that...what they've done to you?" he said, making his voice sound furious and disgusted. Then I heard him sit down next to me. "Envy's dead," he said. "I killed him myself. You know me, don't you, Al? I'm your brother."

I gripped my head with my hands, something I hadn't been able to do for a long time. "Please...please..."

"It's me – Ed!" Now Envy was acting scared. "C'mon, can't you tell it's me?"

I ground the heels of my hands into my empty eye sockets, not caring about the stabs of pain lancing through my head. I welcomed them, because they distracted me from the greater pain of hearing my fake brother's voice. He was pounding on the boards over my windows again, and maybe if I screamed loud enough, I could drown him out.

But then Envy pried my hands away. "No, don't do that! You're going to hurt yourself. Don't be scared, Al. We'll get you to a hospital soon..."

"Shut up," I moaned, unable to bear Envy's falsely concerned voice anymore. I sought desperately for something to distract myself, and found myself locked in a never-ending mantra of, "Shutupshutupshutupshutup..." I gouged at my arm with one hand, digging my long, ragged nails into the skin and drawing blood. I dug and dug and dug, as if somewhere in there I could find peace in the midst of this splitting pain.

Envy was struggling against me, but I ignored him. I fought his grip and kept scratching. But gradually I realized that, while I could still feel my fingers gouging into flesh, I could no longer feel fresh stabs of pain, just the dull ache of my arm. Confused, I fell still and silent. I felt up the arm to the face of the person leaning over me, and ran my fingers along that person's face. I felt something wet and realized it was a tear.

Suddenly frozen with fear, I let my hand drop back to the arm I'd been scratching, and trailed my fingers along the cuts, which were warm and sticky. Taking a deep breath, I tried, "You're really short."

To my surprise, only silence met my ears. Always before, Envy hadn't even waited a second before screaming in rage that he wasn't short. But this time, there was only silence for a minute, and then I felt a drop of moisture fall onto my arm.

"You're right," the voice said brokenly. "I'm short. I'm tiny, I'm puny, I'm _miniscule!_ I'm so weak I couldn't find you, I couldn't save you, I couldn't keep them from doing... You can hate me if you like, or believe it's not really me. I don't care. But...if there was any way...if I could just turn back time...take your place... If only I were the one they hurt, not you. If I could take your pain onto myself, I would in a heartbeat. Oh, Al...I'm so sorry..."

I felt his lips pressed gently, ever so gently, against my empty eye sockets. It didn't even sting. Then I felt his tears dropping on them, like Rapunzel crying over her prince. If only my eyes could have come back as easily.

This was nothing like what most people think my brother's like. Normally, my brother would be shouting his head off, right? That's what Envy always did, and he was pretty good at it, too. He would never have dreamed that Edward Elric would cry and admit to his own alleged inadequacies. That knowledge filled me as I slumped in those strong arms, tasting salty tears that were not my own.

"Brother..."

And then my brother held me so tightly it hurt. But for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, I didn't care about the pain. I was with my brother, and everything would be all right. He gently pried one of the boards away and looked through the window at my soul.

We went home then. I had to stay in the hospital for a while so they could treat the worst of my wounds, but then we went back to Risenpool. Brother called ahead and told them what had happened, so when we showed up on the doorstep there were no awkward questions or shocked silences. It was just like when I was in the suit of armor. They just accepted me for who I was, not what I looked like.

They all nursed me back to health, till all that was left were scars. They gave me a soft strip of cloth to wrap around my eyes so people wouldn't stare at my empty eye sockets. I learned how to go about life without sight; I learned how to do things by touch and hearing. I suppose you could say it was Equivalent Trade: I regained all my senses for the price of the one I hadn't lost before.

But there are some things that cannot be healed so easily. In one week, Envy had shattered my trust. For a long time, if anyone touched me I would jerk away, sometimes even cry out, because the touch of flesh sent a thrill of fear through me. And I couldn't relax. I was always on edge, and if I became too agitated or started thinking about what had happened, I would start to scratch my arm open again without even realizing it. I still have scars.

It was my brother who helped me the most through this time. He is the reason I can even talk about it now. He was always there when I needed him, always ready to calmly talk my anxieties away. He never treated me differently because of my eyes or anything else that had happened to me, except maybe with a special gentleness in his voice whenever he spoke to me. Sometimes when he would come upon me and find me inadvertently tearing my skin open, he would cry and apologize over and over, as if he'd been the one raking his nails over my skin.

Over the months, my brother carefully pried the rest of the boards away from my window, so gently and cautiously that none of the cracked panes of glass fell out. And finally, the window was free and my soul could look out. The glass was cracked in so many places, warping my view of the world and everyone else's view of me. But my brother stood on the other side of the glass, gently smoothing over the cracks and making the world seem a more beautiful place with every passing day. And I stood at the window, watching the fragmented view of my brother slowly come back together.

After about a year, that task was completed. There were still signs of the damage that had been wrought – warpings in the window, scars on my skin. But I could see out. I had recovered almost as much as possible; I could live just as full of a life as before. I even learned to perform alchemy by touch. My nightmares were gone, and touching someone no longer brought on a fear so piercing I had to hurt myself to cope. In most people's eyes, I was my normal self again.

But I still didn't trust. How could I ever trust these people implicitly when I could still hear their voices accusing me, mocking me, telling me they hated me? I remained safe behind the thick glass, where everyone could see me, and that was enough.

Enough except for one person, of course. My brother let me stand where I was comfortable for a while, but then he inched closer to my window and placed his hands on the warped glass. He came to me one evening as I sat in my favorite place, where I could hear the river rushing past. "Alphonse..." he said softly, using my full name like he always does when he's dead serious. "Why are you still distant from me? Don't you trust me? I know nothing can ever be what it was...but haven't I convinced you that I'm never going to hurt you?"

I knew, somehow, that he meant that in two ways. Envy had done so much more than tear my body apart. He had crushed my heart till it was hardly beating anymore. And it had expanded once again, but I was afraid of letting anyone behind my shield of glass, afraid of becoming vulnerable again.

I expected my brother to press harder against the window of my soul, pound his fist on the glass, try to pry it open. But he didn't. He took his hands off the glass and stepped back. "If you need to keep me at a distance," he told me softly, "that's okay. But...I'm here if you need me."

I knew in that moment that I needed to open up, right then, or I might never make myself do it, and I would be trapped here forever. So I clenched my fists, and began to tell him everything I'd experienced at Envy's hands. With every word, I opened the window a tiny bit more, until at the end of my story, the window stood wide open and I was naked and vulnerable. I was trembling, as if a chill breeze was blowing in through the open window onto my soul.

For a moment, my brother was silent. Then he stepped forward, climbed through the window, and closed it behind him.

"I love you, Al," he said softly, wrapping his arms around me as the river rushed past. "And I'm just glad that you're alive, that you're here with me. When you're in pain...I can almost feel it too."

"I'm not in pain anymore, Brother," I said, and I pulled the curtains closed. I didn't need to look out of that window anymore.


	61. Diary or Journal

**Author's Note: I'm not really pleased with this one, but it was the only idea that came to mind. I generally dislike writing CoS fics, because CoS is so agonizingly depressing (Ed's voice drags my heart down every single time). I especially balked at writing this one because it meant I'd have to watch the movie again to make sure I had the timeline right, and that got me thoroughly depressed for several days. Basically, this is slightly AU from CoS; Ed made it back to Amestris and **_**stayed there,**_** and Alfons survived the bullet.**

**Timeline: Post-Conqueror of Shamballa (AU)**

**Theme 61: Diary/Journal**

Alfons Heiderich pulled the book – a diary? A journal? He never could keep the two straight – closer and found his place. Lately, he had found his mind drifting off to unrelated places. He didn't have time for this! Scowling down at his page of notes, he tried to focus.

_I'm all alone here. Some days I feel like dying. I can't stand this wretched existence any-_

Alfons sighed and shook his head. So melodramatic. Like the stories he used to tell. A smile curled Alfons' lips. Oh, those silly stories – about alchemy and a quest for the Philosopher's Stone. Like something out of a fairy tale.

Yeah, that was what Edward Elric was like. A mysterious fairy tale magician. If you looked into his eyes when he was telling one of his stories, you'd believe he could do just about anything. Then when _The End_ came around, he'd glance around, remember where he was, and the light in his eyes would dim.

Alfons had always known Edward tended to be pessimistic and gloomy, but he'd never guessed it was _this_ bad. Alfons frowned down at the diary in his lap. This was full-blown depression, this was. "Oh, Ed," he muttered to the pages, "why didn't you ever talk about this?" Whenever Alfons had noticed his friend's downcast face, Edward had always laughed it off, said it was nothing, fooled Alfons into thinking that ever-present soft cast to his voice was normal.

But these pages told a different story. They screamed of rage and desperation and heart-stopping depression. And slowly, they'd been winning out over his stubbornness to keep on living. Alfons realized that his friend had slowly been dying, day by day. Funny, how similar they were.

As if on cue, Alfons' cough suddenly started up again. It shook his whole body for several minutes, and when it finally subsided, there was blood on the handkerchief he held to his mouth. He was used to it by now, but the sight of his own blood was still chilling. He was dying. Been dying for a long time now. Day by day, a little more each time he coughed. And that bullet to the chest hadn't done wonders for his health, either. He'd die any day now. He could see that in Noa's eyes every time she looked at him. There were some things she just _knew,_ and he could see she was certain about this.

That was why he had to finish translating Edward's diary, before it was too late. He had realized on that day three months ago that everything he'd been striving for, all his hopes and dreams, were just pale ghosts compared to what Edward was prepared to give up. Edward had said, "I don't need to go home anymore!" But that man Hohenheim had been right. Edward needed to be in his own world, with his own friends. His own brother.

That was another funny thing. Obviously, Alfons had never met Edward's brother, but from all the stories and now this diary, he felt as though he knew him, in a way. He could tell that Edward's Alphonse was a wonderful person, though, and very important to Edward. Two people who meant so much to each other should never be separated like the Elrics were, in separate worlds with little hope of ever being reunited.

That was why Alfons had sneaked Edward into the one-man rocket and shot him off for the portal to his world. In those final moments, he longed for nothing but to see Edward returned to his home. He'd been prepared to die for it if he had to, and when the world had gone dark, he'd thought that was the end. Then he woke to find that Noa and his old colleagues had snuck him out and hidden him so his former bosses couldn't find him.

Alfons felt as though he'd been give a second chance to make an impact. But this time, he was making sure his friend would never be forgotten. He'd written down every one of Edward's stories he could remember, and now he was attempting to translate Edward's diary.

When the two of them had first met, Edward could only speak English, so that was the language they used until Edward picked up enough German to get around. But Edward's English had always had a strange accent – his vowels were very clearly enunciated, and he almost seemed to stumble over some consonants as if unused to hearing them right next to each other. And the first time Alfons had opened Edward's diary, he had been surprised to discover that it was written, not in English as he had expected, but in some strange language Alfons could not identify. The grammar was almost identical to English, but the words were all alien. Fortunately, Edward had written down many words and their English equivalents, probably when he had first been learning the language. Alfons was able to figure out the rest from the context.

At first Edward had written primarily about what he had done and where he had gone, but as the years rolled by, he began to fill his notebooks with outpourings of emotion that staggered Alfons. How could so much emotion boil forth from such a small person, and not break him utterly?

But Edward had been close. _Alphonse, where are you? I need you, more than anything. I miss you so much I think I'm going to burst. Why aren't you here with me? Why can't I reach you?_

Alfons wondered if Edward had made it. He wondered if he'd found his Alphonse, and whether life had entered him now that he was in his own world, in the fairy tale world of his stories. Alfons sighed. He would never know.

Alfons turned the page of the diary and froze. Instead of the slanting, tired script that filled the rest of the book, sharp, bold letters covered this page. Eagerly translating, Alfons read the page as quickly as he could.

_Al came. He came with all the suits of armor. It was just his soul, but he came. He said he's forgotten everything after the transmutation, but he didn't forget me. At least he didn't forget me. I think I know what to do now. I'm so alive, so filled with energy, like I haven't for so long. Just seeing him again made me remember all these things I've half forgotten. I'm going back to you, Al. Just you wait. We'll go back home together, little brother._

And that was it. The rest of the pages were blank, for it hadn't been long until he'd gone back. What a fitting way to end. Alfons smiled and closed the book. Suddenly he felt very tired, as though he'd been working hard all day and finally sat down to rest.

Alfons lay back against the pillows. Edward had made it to his world. He believed that with all his heart. A serene smile crossed his face as he sank into the pillows, eyes glazing over, limbs seeming to grow heavier. It was a happy ending to the bedtime story, and now he could sleep.


	62. Reason to Quarrel

**Author's Note: The minute I saw this theme, I asked myself, "What's the best reason for the Elric brothers to quarrel?" The answer I came up with was: "Why, who's going to use the Stone, of course!" If they were ever in a position where they'd actually be okay with using the Stone, and there was only enough of it for one of them to bring their body back, I think this is how it would turn out. I've also tried to loosen up my style a bit here, experimenting with being less grammatically correct (which is a huge step for me, a confirmed Grammar Nazi). I kind of like the effect.  
**

**Timeline: End of series (AU?)**

**Theme 62: A reason to quarrel**

Sometimes Alphonse wished he had eyebrows. It would make glaring so much easier.

Edward was amazing at glaring. His jaw would clench, his eyebrows would draw down, and his eyes would blaze. It was so hard to withstand him when he was glaring. Even after fifteen years, Alphonse couldn't remain unmoved when his brother scowled at him like that.

"The last thing I need," Edward said, "is for you to get stubborn _now. _I'm gonna do it, and there's nothing you can do to stop me."

Since he couldn't glare anyway, Alphonse looked down at the blood-red stone in Edward's hand. It shimmered whenever he shifted his hand, almost as if it wasn't really there and would disappear any moment. As it had so many times before. It seemed like every time they thought they'd reached their goal at last, they discovered they were farther from it than ever. Alphonse wanted to hurry up and use it, now, before it vanished again.

"No, Brother," he said resolutely, "I'm going to use it. I'm going to get your arm and leg back."

Edward swore loudly. "What do you think I've been searching for this for?" he cried, gesturing with the Stone. "Do you think I've actually spent the past four years working my butt off just to get a few stupid body parts back?! What about you, Al? Isn't your _whole body_ more important than-"

"So you lied to me!" Alphonse broke in furiously. "All those times you promised me we'd get our bodies back _together!_ At the _same time!_"

"Like there was anything else I could say to make you shut up about it!"

Alphonse stiffened, stung by these words. How could he have been so _stupid_ for all these years? He should've known Edward would put retrieving his body above any of his own needs. "You can't do this," Alphonse rasped. "After all you've put yourself through, you deserve to go first."

Edward took a step closer and glared magnificently up at his little brother. "I can't stand it anymore, Al! I can't stand looking at you, but not _seeing_ you! I want you back, back to the way I remember you, without all this cold and hard and sharp and- *** it, Al, I want to see _you_ again!"

"But Brother!" Alphonse protested. "You're the one who's sacrificed the most! You've given up everything for this Stone – _everything!_ You deserve to use it first; Equivalent Tr-"

"Equivalent?!" Edward yelled. "_Equivalent?_ How could you say.... What exactly in this.... There's nothing equivalent about any of this! There wasn't a thing you weren't forced to give up, and all because of me! All of this is yours!" He thrust the Stone out, and it was like he was holding out his pulsating heart, gripping it viciously with his metal hand.

Alphonse stared at the Stone for several long moments. He could see himself, reflected in the many facets of the jewel-like rock. Dozens of little Als, staring back at him with red, red eyes. But on the other side of the Stone, Edward's face was reflected again and again, till their reflections met in the glittering center.

"I can't do it, Brother." Alphonse looked up at the real face of his brother. "How could I be happy with my whole body, when I knew you were suffering with that automail?"

"Suffer?" Edward let his hand holding the Stone drop to his side. "You don't get it, Al," he said softly. "You don't know what it's like. Every time I look at you, I see everything I can't take back, and I remember that your soul could reject that armor any minute. You might just _stop_ all of a sudden, and then I'd lose you - maybe forever, maybe I couldn't save you, maybe not even if I gave up every last bit of myself. And then I wouldn't see you, not ever again, and I'd never get to talk to you again and you'd never be there for me and I'd wake up every morning expecting to see you but you wouldn't be there and I'd always be turning to say something to you and then I'd have to stop because you couldn't listen and I'd look around and there wouldn't be any reason to live because I wouldn't have you and I couldn't keep going without you, Al!"

Alphonse stared at his brother, breathing hard and staring up at him, tears building up on his eyelashes.

What a reason to quarrel. What a pointless argument, as if with their words they could prove that one of them loved the other more. It was almost as stupid as fighting over who would marry Winry. But no matter how stupid the fight was, Alphonse always won. He'd found out long ago that if he just held his ground long enough, Edward would break. And he was close to breaking point now. A few more seconds of silence, and he would relent – reluctantly, but still relent.

What would happen if they didn't bring Alphonse's body back, and kept living in the shadow of this fear? It would shatter Edward, surely. Edward would draw into himself with every passing day, and every time he looked at Alphonse he would think of how he could never succeed, not even when he'd had the Philosopher's Stone and could have brought his little brother back. Every time he would look up into Alphonse's eyes, a little more of the fire in his own eyes would die out, until maybe he would stop looking up at all. He would live every day knowing that he had ruined his brother for good.

And how would Alphonse feel if he got his body back, but Edward didn't? When he looked at Edward, he would remember how his older brother had given everything up for him, how he paid no attention to his own needs or the trouble that automail caused. Edward would walk around with a constant reminder that he'd made a mistake, but it would also remind Alphonse that all the pain and suffering on their journey had led to absolutely nothing for him. The sight of his brother, still carrying the burden of old guilt, would slowly shatter Alphonse.

But as Alphonse gazed into Edward's eyes, he realized that he couldn't bear to see that small body whole, if the enormous heart inside it had been crushed. Alphonse decided that if one of them had to be in pain, he would gladly fill the role.

"All right," he said. "Use it on me."


	63. Special Seat

**Author's Note: This one's kind of strange, in my mind. The theme is odd, and I ended up coming out with a strange story that feels like it should be its own chapterfic or something. There's definitely more to this story than what we see here.**

**Timeline: Midseries**

**Theme 63: Special seat**

Edward just sat there, fingers twitching, eyes staring straight ahead, as if he was alone in a world that scared him to death.

Somehow, Alphonse found this new Edward more frightening that the Edward whimpering on the floor, stripped of his clothes and automail, cowering in the shadow of the psychopath he had irritated and humiliated one too many times. This silent Edward set Alphonse's nerves jangling even more than the Edward who screamed without restraint when Mustang jammed his automail back in with clumsy, inexperienced hands, feebly explaining that he had to get back on his feet so they could get out of there. This stiff, nervous Edward worried him even more than the Edward who flinched at every touch and practically cowered when Mustang draped his coat over the boy's bare shoulders.

The first thing Alphonse had said to his brother (after pummeling that perverted alchemist with all his strength) was, "Did he hurt you?" Edward had shaken his head, but his eyes had said, _He was going to._ It seemed this knowledge terrified Edward more than anything else, and Alphonse didn't blame him.

That didn't stop Alphonse from fretting. Edward hadn't said a single word since Mustang had driven them, not to their dorm room, but to his own apartment down a quiet, dark street. He hadn't said anything as Mustang parked the car and herded them up three flights of steps. He'd remained quiet when Mustang procured one of his own enormous shirts and slipped it over Edward's head till they could get him some clothes that would fit him. Then he'd just sat in that chair and twitched, as if his automail was still paining him.

That had been three days ago. Winry had dropped by, inspected his automail, and declared it was in perfect working order and shouldn't be pinching his nerves or anything else to make it hurt. Then she'd told Alphonse to take care of him, and left. Mustang had said the same thing. Take care of him. Help him.

How?

Alphonse knew how to handle his brother. He knew warning signs and silent cues. He knew what to do when Edward was in a towering rage, or a slump of depression, or when he just needed to get some sleep. But this...this cold, quiet, twitching boy was not his brother, and he didn't know what to do with a stranger.

Edward had been in a state like this once before, so terrified and broken he could hardly do anything except shiver. But even when Barry the Chopper had reduced him to that, Edward had still responded to his little brother. They could talk, draw comfort from each other with their words. But now Edward said nothing, and he seemed deaf to Alphonse's voice as well. What could that mad alchemist have said or done to-

No. He didn't want to imagine.

Since words seemed to have failed him, maybe he needed to do something physical. Alphonse was always wary about touching other people with this body of his; he knew it was cold and hard and sharp, and any attempts at comfort might end up only causing pain instead. More than ever, Alphonse longed for warm, soft arms so he could wrap them around his brother and assure him it would be all right.

Alphonse moved from his position in the corner and perched gingerly on the edge of Mustang's bed. Mustang had given his room up, sleeping on the couch when he came home from long days in the office. Hawkeye dropped by at mealtimes, because Alphonse didn't know how to cook and Mustang was busy tracking down the rest of the men who had managed to overcome the Full Metal Alchemist. They had fallen into a routine; it almost felt like a family. Almost.

Alphonse gazed sadly at Edward. What did he need to do to reawaken the brother he knew? Nothing seemed to work. Alphonse just wanted to hold his frightened brother, but whoever had designed the chestplate of this armor definitely hadn't had hugging in mind.

Alphonse unhooked the straps holding his chestplate in place and leaned it against the side of the bed. He always felt slightly off-balance without his chestplate, so he was extra-careful as he leaned forward, gathered Edward into his arms, and straightened again. Edward looked up at him with wide, nervous eyes for a moment before Alphonse folded him into the dark recess of his empty body.

Edward sat in Alphonse's hollow chest as if it was some special seat, his legs sticking out onto Alphonse's enormous lap. He just sat there for a few moments, still twitching, his automail hand tapping erratically against the inside of Alphonse's body.

"It's all right, Brother," Alphonse said in a soft rasp. "No one's going to hurt you. I won't let them."

And gradually, the erratic tapping ceased. Edward drew his legs up closer to his body and curled up in the cool, dark recesses of Alphonse's chest. Alphonse reached for one of the blankets at the foot of the bed and draped it as best as he could over his brother's body. The sound of Edward's breathing in his chest made him half-believe he could actually breathe again himself.

Alphonse thought Edward had fallen asleep long ago when the whisper echoed around the armor, "Thanks."


	64. Scenery from a Car Seat

**Author's Note: Ugh, I hate this theme. Not only does it rarely elicit a very interesting bit of writing in other people's fics, but it also has no apparent relevance to anything in the brothers' lives. This little thing took me months and months to come up with. I tried thinking of some melodramatic occurrence like a car crash, something cheesy like a car trip.... Nothing worked. Finally I decided to attempt something humorous about Ed learning to drive, but I still didn't know how to go about it. To inspire myself, I started listening to Skillet's album Comatose, and when it got to the song "The Last Night", I knew exactly what to do. That song has very strong Parental!Roy connotations for me, so I decided to write yet another chapter from the perspective of Roy Mustang. Also, because it fit better, I changed the wording from "car seat" to "passenger seat" in the text.**

**Timeline: After Ed's 16****th**** birthday (midseries)**

**Theme 64: Scenery from a car seat**

_My name is Roy Mustang. Age, 30. Rank, Colonel. My mission: To teach the Full Metal Alchemist how to drive a car._

I'm still trying to figure out how I survived _that_ one.

It all started out simply enough. Full Metal had recently turned sixteen, and if he could be sent to the front lines of battle, he could *** well drive his own car. Besides, a high-ranking officer such as myself has better things to do than drive all across town, transporting a couple teenagers to the library and back. So I sacrificed one of my free days (which could have been much better occupied with a date), shoved Full Metal into the front seat, and set about tutoring him.

But Full Metal will be Full Metal, so naturally he pounded his foot alternately on the gas and the brake, swearing at the top of his lungs at me, the car, me, pedestrians, me, other drivers, and me. We both left that first lesson equally exhausted, but I did not give up. I gritted my teeth and got into the front seat again the following week.

This time, no matter how many times I told him not to keep _jerking_ the gear shift about, he kept jabbing it around like a sword. And he was actually _surprised_ when it broke off in his hand, crushed by his automail.

On his third lesson he forgot to take off the parking brake and burned an inch of rubber off the tires.

On his fourth lesson he nearly ran a poor old lady over when he drove up onto the curb.

And on his fifth, his foot slipped off the gas pedal, and when he found it again, he hit it so hard he ran right into a tree.

A lesser man might have faltered under such circumstances. But I am a colonel in the Amestris military, and I will not back down, no matter the obstacle. I would have continued these lessons, at great risk to my own health. I would have seen Edward Elric receive a license if it killed me – and it probably would have.

But a savior came – I mean, an alternative presented itself – in the form of Alphonse Elric. One day, as I sat in my office considering – well, _dreading_ – Edward's lesson later that day, Alphonse knocked softly and slipped as unobtrusively as possible into the room. I often marvel at how differently those two brothers act towards me. With Edward it's always yelling and complaining and occasionally a new dent on my desk. Yet Alphonse is all politeness.

"Excuse me, sir," Alphonse said as he sidled through the door, careful not to scratch the woodwork with his shoulders. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything _too_ important."

Sometimes I wish Full Metal was the one in the tin can, so Alphonse could've been the State Alchemist I had to deal with. But no, if Edward ever came in as a suit of armor, my office would be a shambles.

"No, you're not interrupting me, Alphonse," I said, pulling myself from my black thoughts. It had to be something important, to bring Alphonse all the way here, and without the pipsqueak to boot.

"Well, it's...it's about my brother," he began nervously.

I covered my face with a groan. This was the last thing I needed to round off the day. "What's he done now?"

"Oh no, it's nothing like that!" Alphonse said hastily. "It's just...well, I know my brother's driving lessons with you have been a little…."

"Disastrous," I supplied helpfully.

"Yes, well...I was wondering if it might be more successful if I taught him."

Since I'm only thirty years old, there is next to no chance that I have hearing loss. However, to make absolutely sure I'd understood him, I said, "You know how to drive?"

Alphonse ducked his helmet as far as he could (which isn't all that far). "Well...yeah. Mr. Tucker taught me when we were living with him, and – and don't tell my brother I said this, but he was too small still, so Mr. Tucker didn't teach him. But I don't drive, normally; I mean, I'm only fifteen."

And so I found myself watching the two of them drive away in my (heavily repaired) car. I wondered how many pieces it would be in by the end of the day.

Yet to my astonishment, the car came gliding calmly back in an hour – with Full Metal behind the wheel, cool as a cucumber, with a smug smile obviously intended for me. As if to say, "Haha, stupid idiot Colonel, looks like my little brother can do something you can't."

And I take my hat off to the hulking suit of armor, because now I call up the pipsqueak, threaten him with court-martial, then say, "Home, Full Metal," and enjoy the scenery from a passenger seat. Despite the teeth-grinding from the seat next to me.

_My name is Roy Mustang. Age, 30. Rank, Colonel. Mission accomplished._


	65. The You Reflected in the Glass

**Author's Note: This is one of the few prompts I always knew what I was going to do with. From the very first Royai 100 Themes I ever read, I've always thought this theme fairly **_**screamed**_** Al. My favorite two pages of any manga ever are the ones in Chapter 15 where Al stands looking at his reflection, reaches out to touch it, then breaks the mirror. Without saying anything, he manages to tell us **_**everything.**_** I'm amazed every time I look at it. I've long wanted to attempt depicting the turmoil Al goes through when he starts to doubt that he's real; it's such an interesting, angst-ridden dilemma. So this is my attempt, heavily inspired and influenced by "Breathe No More" by Evanescence and, to a lesser extent, "Forgiven" and "Pale" by Within Temptation. There's lots of questions and weird grammar in this, so be forewarned.**

**Timeline: Episode 23/Chapter 15/Episode 9  
**

**Theme 65: The you reflected in the glass**

_What would you do if your personality and memory were artificially created by your brother?_

With such simple words, I am destroyed so completely. Everything I thought I knew, everything I held dear, is suddenly thrown into question. All that I'm living for...is what? A lie? Is everything about me false? Am I imaginary?

For the past four years, I've lived with memories of a mother and a brother who may never have been mine. I've been feeling guilty about something I may have had nothing to do with. And worse...I've felt respect and affection for someone who may have created me specifically to feel those things for him.

I know why he never told me. Who would? No one would have the courage to go up to someone and say, "I'm sorry, but everything you thought was real was just something I pulled from the back of my mind. You're actually not real, and I never told you." Not if they cared what the other person thought. I guess that means my 'brother' cares what I think of him.

I wonder why he did it. Was it just an experiment? Or maybe…maybe after he'd tried to bring his mother back, and failed, he looked around at that blood-stained room and realized that he was completely and utterly alone. Maybe he cried for someone, anyone to help him, but there was no one there, and he was about to die. So he created a fake person. A fake brother. One whose memories and personality he designed to be perfect for what he needed. A brother who would love him, admire him, worry over him, save him from imminent death when no one could hear his screams for help.

But why go to all the trouble to make something that thought it was a real human? Why make someone who would want to get back a body that never existed? Wouldn't that be more trouble than it was worth? But then...maybe he couldn't stand going through life alone. Maybe he lay there and realized that if he didn't have a companion, he would die anyway. So he made someone to care about, someone who'd give his life meaning.

I guess he didn't realize that a personality and memories in an empty suit of armor is just as alone as he would have been. He didn't realize that this pain and confusion is ten times worse than anything he suffered, because this won't go away with time. Or maybe he did realize it...and he did it anyway.

I think the worst part of all this is knowing that he made me exactly suited to his preferences. That means that all the things I hate about myself are his doing, yet even the things I thought I could be proud of don't come from me at all. They come from him. None of it is me. There _is_ no 'me'. I don't exist.

And what do you do when you look in the mirror, and the you reflected in the glass isn't you?

All the little shards of me are falling at my feet, shattering in my hand, cutting me, yet leaving no mark, because I'm not me and I don't exist. I can't put my reflection back together again. It's an impossible puzzle, because I realize I can't remember who I was anyway. Maybe I never knew. How do I make sense of my broken identity? How do I return to the peace and confidence of knowing who I am and where I came from, when all of that was a lie to begin with? How do I continue, when I don't know who I am or if I even want those things anymore?

Is there any difference between myself and my reflection? What separates me from the ideal my brother envisioned? Nothing but a thin sheet of glass. And I can't help wondering: Which of us do you love, Brother? The me I always thought I was, or the me I actually am? Do you just like having a little brother to laugh with, someone who looks up to you when the world disregards you? Would you still love me with my confusion, my need to make a me that wasn't yours? Would you hate me if I had to change? Or would you say there wasn't a point in having a brother who didn't fit your requirements?

You see...when I realize I don't know myself, I realize I never knew you as well as I thought I did. And I think you made a mistake somewhere, Brother, because shouldn't I know you better than you know yourself? You wanted to make the perfect little brother, but I ended up a failure. I'm sorry. I think it's my fault. If I just kept on blindly following you everywhere, I would fill that role the way you wanted. But you gave me a personality that would question, doubt, and fail. You should have fixed that, you know.

I feel so separated from the rest of the world all of a sudden. I look around at people, and I wonder what it's like to be human and know you're human and be _absolutely certain_ that you'd always existed like that. I feel like I'm in a foreign country, or watching everything through a foggy window. There's this hollow cavity deep inside me somewhere, this dreadful stillness that remains while the rest of the world carries on frenetically around it.

And I wonder...is there any point in continuing to exist? What meaning is there in anything, when I was never a part of this world? I'm an extraneous piece of the universe, something that was never meant to be here anyway. So why don't I slip out as quietly as I can? No one will miss what never existed in the first place. No one will care.

It would be so easy, too. Just scratch away at the blood seal, and I'm gone. No more trying to figure out how to live when I'm nothing, because then I'll _be_ nothing, and there will be no confusion or contradiction in my non-existence. I won't have a consciousness anymore, but after this turmoil I think that would be a relief. It'll be better for everyone. Including 'Brother'.

He'll see the wisdom in what I did. It might take a while for him to understand, but he will. He'll see that I was just dragging him down anyway. In his desperation, he made me to give purpose to his life, to search for something that couldn't be found. A quest that would take up years before he had to face reality. But he needs to face it. He needs to realize that if he never had a little brother, he doesn't need one now either. He can find purpose in this world, because he's a person, he always existed, and he belongs to this world. He might be sad for a while that the pretend is over, but in the end he'll be better off. He can continue on without a little brother, because he's so strong.

Ha. What do you know, 'Brother dearest'? I still love you, even when I'm nothing. Because that's the way you made me.

**To be continued...**


	66. The Pounding of a Heart

**Author's Note: I'm sorry to go through this whole thing again, but even when I've been over this arc of the story a kajillion times, I always seem to be able to find new nuances to focus on or different ways it could turn out. So this is the continuation of the previous chapter, from the other side of things. Al's part was a lot better, I think.**

**Timeline: Episode 23/Chapter 15/Episode 9  
**

**Theme 66: The pounding of a heart**

My nightmares always include the pounding of a heart. Usually it's that _thing_ I created, all the flesh turned inside-out, guts spilling out across the floor in pools of blood, and that heart beating, beating, beating, throbbing desperately, straining at life. The thing-that's-not-human gasps for breath, sagging lungs inflating only halfway, but working so fiercely you could almost forget that. Then the eyes lock on me, and as the thing breathes its last I jerk awake, my own heart pounding like that exposed organ on the floor.

Sometimes when my heart is pounding for another reason, it reminds me of the _thing,_ and it's all I can do not to pass out. So I hate getting a shock, because it's like that horrible night. I can never escape. When my heart pounds like that, I feel that same terror, that same desire but inability to run. It's like the world that seemed so stable within the lines of science suddenly got skewed, like water making ink run down a paper.

That's why, when I saw you kneeling on the floor with your breastplate off and a razor-sharp shard of glass pointing towards your blood seal, at first all I could do was stand and gape. My mind kept screaming at me to rush over to you, to _stop_ you, but my heart would only keep pounding in terror, and my legs wouldn't move. The whole world seemed to be coming to an end right there, as completely as the time I slowly realized I was missing a leg, the transmutation hadn't worked, and you were _gone._

Do you know what it's like to be completely alone, to look around you and realize that in the whole wide world, there's no one who truly understands what you've been through? But...of course...you know that even better than I do. That's why you wanted to leave, wasn't it?

I don't know how long I just stood there like that, staring at you. You stared back at me, but for once I couldn't read the expressions you don't have. You just knelt there, with the glass in your hand, and looked at me. Slowly, I realized I was walking towards you, crunching over smaller bits of glass. Seems you chose the biggest piece. I could see my fragmented reflection in all the shards beneath me.

It seemed to take forever just to get to you, as if there was some horrible gap between us that I couldn't cross. So I reached out and grabbed that dagger of glass instead, bridging the gap that way. I only realized after my hand closed around it that I'd used my left hand, and as the glass crumbled in my hand, I felt the splinters digging past the bandage that was already there and into the skin. Pain raced up my arm.

But that was nothing to the pain in your eyes.

"What are you doing?" I whispered, somehow unable to let go of the glass. You didn't let go either.

"Barry..." You were whispering too. "He said that...that you gave me false memories. That you...created me."

I stared at you, my heart throbbing even more than my hand. And with that pain came a sudden anger that brushed away my numbness. "How could you even _think_ that?" I yelled, shaking you as if that would make you see the truth. But I expected you to put up some kind of resistance, so when you didn't my fist – the one with all the glass – flew forward and hit your blood seal.

You made a sound like I'd punched you in the stomach, and for a second your eyes flicked out. I thought I'd lost you, but then your eyes came back and I realized that my heart was pounding worse than ever. We just looked at each other for a moment or two. I don't know what you were thinking, but I was thinking about how I could have killed you. How the glass in my hand could have done exactly what you'd been trying to do. I hate myself for that, even if it was an accident.

"Well, think about it," you said, and your voice was so calm and cold I think my heart stopped right there. "I'm just a personality in an empty suit of armor. My memories and personality could be manufactured. Where's the proof that Alphonse Elric ever existed?"

Proof? How could I give proof for something like that?

"It's okay, Edward," you said in that same cold voice, as if you were determined to make my heart stop and start like a temperamental motor. "I know why you made me. You were lonely after your mother died, so you decided to make a little brother. But if you didn't have one in the first place, you don't need me now. Just let me go."

"Don't _need_ you?" It felt like the words had torn themselves out of my throat, desperate to get out before you could say anything else. I could hear my blood pounding in my ears, and that terrified me. "What are you _talking_ about, stupid? Do you know what I went through when I opened my eyes and saw nothing but your empty clothes on the floor? Can you...Can you even _imagine_ what it felt like to realize that I'd never see you ever again, that I couldn't ever talk to you again, that I'd be alone every day for the rest of my whole _life_ and there would be nothing to fill that hole? Don't you know that I can't _live_ without you?"

"But...But you're strong, Brother... You can do without me..." You didn't seem to realize you'd gone back to calling me a brother.

"No, I _can't!_"

"Yes, you can!"

"Can't!"

"Can!"

"Can't!"

And then all of the tension was gone, just like that. All of a sudden we were laughing like nothing was wrong, like I didn't have tears in my eyes, like everything was right between us, because we both realized how ridiculous this whole thing was.

When I finally had to stop laughing because the wound in my side started hurting, you looked at me with your huge red eyes, completely serious again. "Brother, did you create me?"

I looked straight at you, begging you to understand with all my heart. "Of course not. If I was such a genius that I could come up with your personality, then getting your body back would be a cinch. You ever thought of that?"

You didn't say anything, but you picked up your breastplate and started fastening it on again. I concentrated on standing up without falling right back down.

"Hey, Brother?" Your voice was all soft, the way I like it best. The way that makes me forget you're made of metal and spikes.

"Yeah?" I turned to look at you, and you were standing the way you often do, like you're trying to make yourself as small as possible. It made you look almost shy; your helmet was practically blushing.

"Did you...really mean what you said? That you couldn't live without me?"

"Every word."

You just looked at me, and I couldn't tell what you were thinking. There are so many times I wish you still had a human face, so I could at least see your expression. "I'm so sorry, Brother," you finally said. "I just make a big mess of everything, don't I?"

"Well, you're an Elric. That's how you were brought up, right?" I waved my hand, suddenly remembering all the glass still stuck in it. "Just following in your older brother's footsteps."

Practical and thoughtful as always, you only said, "We should get that hand seen to."


	67. Quirks

**Author's Note: Another theme I knew exactly what to do with all along. I had fun coming up with a bunch of random quirks the brothers could have. The hardest part was trying to decide whether my goofy quirks would fit with their characters or not. A few are quirks that I have, but most are just pulled out of a hat or derived from observations I've made from the manga or anime. Also, in the second-to-last paragraph I incorporated something my friend said to me a while ago about quirks. I had to change the wording somewhat, so it's not really much like what she said anymore, but still. I myself like to observe little quirks in the people I love best.**

**Timeline: None**

**Theme 67: Quirks**

Everyone has their own quirks, their own little idiosyncrasies that make them distinct from everyone else. The Elric brothers were no exception.

Some of their quirks were obvious for all to see, such as Edward's sensitivity about height or his long golden hair worn in a braid, or the way Alphonse never called Edward anything but 'Brother', that title always filled with a strange mixture of respect and exasperation. Most people who knew anything about the brothers knew that Edward always wore a long red coat and white gloves, even on a hot day in the middle of summer. Most people knew that Alphonse attracted stray animals as if he was magnetic.

Other quirks were only known by people closer to them, such as how Edward often mumbled under his breath without realizing it when he read, or how Alphonse still said "Ouch!" when he bumped into things, even though it didn't hurt. Edward snored, and Alphonse never slept. Their gaits were also distinct – Alphonse clomping around with ginger footsteps, Edward striding confidently forward as if he didn't notice how one foot always made a louder sound when it struck the ground. Even if they didn't wear red clothing or archaic armor, the brothers' friends would easily be able to pick them out of a crowd.

Then there were quirks only their former neighbors knew about, since they were the closest thing those boys had to family. Edward often drooled and pushed his shirt up in his sleep, and Alphonse pretended to sleep even though he couldn't. Alphonse twiddled his thumbs when he was bored. Edward couldn't whistle, and his handwriting was atrocious. Edward hated milk; Alphonse wanted nothing more than to drink a large glass of it. Both brothers had the same laugh, even when one was strained and the other echoed metallically.

Most of their quirks stayed the same through everything that happened, so even after they had seen death and been drenched in blood, the people who knew them best could see the little boys in the overlarge suit of armor and muscular, scarred body they had transmuted themselves into. But when Alphonse returned to his human body, the brothers discovered he had picked up a few new quirks as a result of his years in armor. He automatically hunched his shoulders every time he went through a door, even though they were now skinny and there was no danger of scratching the wood. He was always reaching out to touch things, whether that was the wall, a window, or the person he was talking to. It was rather embarrassing for the first few months after he regained his body; whenever he would talk to anyone, he couldn't resist reaching out and stroking their hair, touching their faces, fingering their clothing. He didn't even realize he was doing it at first, but finally Hawkeye explained to him kindly that he was making people feel uncomfortable by touching them so much. Meekly, Alphonse apologized and forced his arms to remain still after that.

But nothing could keep him from touching his brother. Even years later, Alphonse would stroke that golden braid, sniff at those black sleeves, take that left hand and press it against his cheek to feel its knuckly strength against his smooth skin. They could often be seen walking hand-in-hand, as if Alphonse was much younger than he actually was. The main reason Alphonse kept these quirks was that Edward let him. He was the one person who would never feel awkward when his little brother traced his eyes and nose with a fingertip while they were chatting.

Edward and Alphonse felt comfortable around each other because they saw the things that no one else saw. They could see all the things about each other that were painstakingly familiar and obvious, but only to expert eyes. They had memorized the little actions and twists in their every motion that seemed to solidify who they were. Edward knew that Alphonse never used his voice when he cried. Alphonse knew that Edward sucked his thumb when he was dreaming about their mother. Alphonse put food in little mounds on his plate and steadily ate the mounds in a counter-clockwise direction, while Edward piled it all on together and shoveled it into his mouth as if his steak would run off his plate at any moment.

And the best part was that their brother knew their every nuance, and they were still loved.


	68. Song

**Author's Note: Wow. I'm…still trying to figure out where this one came from. Listening to too much classical music, maybe? I'd been throwing tons of song ideas around, since one of my hobbies is collecting theme songs for the brothers (well, I collect theme songs for anybody, but the vast majority of the ones I find are for the brothers). And the thing is, all the songs **_**fit**_** them, but they don't work into a story very well. I tried playing around with one of them singing a lullaby to the other, but that idea's been done so many times I couldn't think of any new angle. Then I tried thinking of some way I could draw a metaphor to a song with their lives. Nothing came from that, until (very randomly) half of the lines here suddenly came streaming through my head. I grabbed a laptop and just typed, and this is what came out. I'm almost afraid to touch it. (Oh, and you can just get any ideas of Elricest out of your mind **_**right now,**_** if you please! Stroking your brother's hair does _not_ make you gay.****) The song I used for inspiration was the instrumental version of "Brothers".**

**Timeline: None**

**Theme 68: Song**

You are the one who begins, nothing but a quiet strum in the background of my life. You are always the one who begins, stepping forward confidently, yet oddly subdued, weighed down with sadness, yet light and golden like the sun.

And I follow where you lead. I join in the dance. I fumble in your footsteps. I pull these notes out of my soul, fling them up to the parts of the sky where your sunlight does not reach, and the notes hang there glistening like stars. I pin down the darkness, I hold it at bay, standing in the shadow. Why do I hear my voice so cold and clear? I am alone, and you cannot see for the radiance of your own greatness.

I falter, but you are there, gently plucking at my chin, raising it up, lifting me to soar into the heights...with you. I soar on the harp's wings. I surf on the waves of your fire, but I know that you will never burn me. Nothing can burn me when I am surrounded by your warmth.

Your bow sings across the strings of my heart, till my whole being thrums with your breath. When I breathe, I sing, for you are here and I am complete. Your fingers tangle in my hair, stretching these notes from heart to fingerboard. And together we sing.

Oh, let me dance with you, till my lips hum with your presence. Complete my soul, draw me from the darkness. Tuck me under your chin and rock, so gently, so softly. Let me fall asleep beneath your fingers, but let me sing even as I sleep. Fashion this lullaby with all of me, for the merest fraction of you will weigh down the scales till I am light as a feather.

And sing with me, sing with your alchemist's fingers, transmuting every day from dull lead into perfection. Stay with me. Polish me till I shine mahogany and in my face you can see how precious you are. Make everyone marvel at us, make them wonder how anything so beautiful could ever be.

Together we are dancing and living and laughing and crying and dying and _breathing_ and _singing_ and we will _never stop, no, never stop,_ my Brother, for the whole world would be broken and shattered before anything could tear me away from you. I will cling, and I will sing, and together we will craft this song with our lives. The harmony is what makes this so beautiful.


	69. Are You Satisfied?

**Author's Note: It only took a little bit of thought to come up with this one. The words sound very much like a challenge, so I just imagined one of them making that challenge, and then I had to figure out why and what the response would be.**

**Timeline: Before automail installation**

**Theme 69: Are you satisfied?**

Alphonse stood, red eyes burning like hot coals in his cold, cold face. The sharp point jutted out from his forehead like an accusing finger. His visor was like a jaw clamped shut in a snarl. "Well, _Brother?_" he asked mockingly. "Are you satisfied?"

Edward felt all his insides go cold at that voice, and he tried to speak, but his lips were frozen together. Frozen by the frigid glare Alphonse sent his way, like a blast of arctic wind.

"Is this what you wanted?" Alphonse lifted the heavy gauntlets that were his hands, clenched them into fists with a scrape of leather against metal. "Your actions caused this. It was you, always you. You wanted to bring Mom back, and now see where your ideas have gotten us."

Edward wanted to shake his head, protest in some small way, but his neck wouldn't move either. Why could he do nothing? Why did he only stand there, letting Alphonse say all these things? Why didn't he open his mouth and _scream_ that he was all wrong?

"Look at me, Brother!" Alphonse cried, his voice echoing hollowly. "This body isn't mine. It's a horrible body! I can't feel things, I can't sleep...I can't even breathe. I'm not human anymore. I'm just an empty shell. And it's all your fault!"

Edward tried to cover his ears so at least he didn't have to hear these words that sent spears through his soul. But his arms wouldn't move, and then he remembered: That Truth guy had taken them away.

"That's right, alchemist," Alphonse said, and now his helmet wore an enormous grin that sent chills down Edward's spine. "You wanted knowledge," Alphonse said in Truth's voice that was no voice and every voice in the world. "You wanted to learn the key to human transmutation. You wanted to see if you could snub your nose in the face of the impossible. You wanted to become God, and turn back death. But nothing comes without a price; you of all people should know this, alchemist. _You_ were the one who made your brother like this. Edward Elric...you have doomed your little brother to a living hell...and all for a scrap of knowledge that won't help anyone. Equivalent Trade is a curious thing, is it not?"

_NO!_ Edward howled with all his being, and he felt something snap. Sweat poured down his face as he gripped his hair with the only hand he had, screaming aloud till his throat burned like the agony in his heart.

"Brother! Brother, what's wrong?"

_Al._ "I'm sorry, Al," Edward croaked, squeezing his eyes shut. He couldn't stand looking into those accusing red eyes anymore. "I'm so sorry…."

"Are you hurting? Do I need to get Granny? Talk to me!"

Edward gasped in pain; how could his heart ache so much? It was as if someone had torn off his limbs and then dragged the bloody stumps across dirty stone. He choked on his own tears, then spat out the words he needed to say. "I'm sorry... It's...It's all my fault. It was all my idea... I threw you away, and now... Oh, Al..." Sobs punctuated his words – weak, breathy sobs that left him gasping, because he had hurt the one person he was breathing for.

"Brother, c-calm down! Don't worry; Granny's getting some pain medicine. Everything's going to be fine, okay?"

Something cold touched his cheek, and Edward realized it was Alphonse's hand. He remembered the frigidity of Alphonse's accusations, and with a whimper pushed the hand away. He tried to turn away from Alphonse, but Alphonse was everywhere, Alphonse was _inside_ of him and he couldn't escape from this guilt. "I'm sorry, Al...I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." He whispered the same thing over and over, because those words could only convey a fraction of how much he wished he could take everything back.

"No, don't... Please don't... You didn't make me like this. It's not your fault."

_But it is, it is, it is..._ The pain was growing too great. Edward bit his hand, as if gnawing it off would somehow pay for his mistakes and get rid of this pain. He tasted blood, and he was rushing back to those moments of sheer terror when he returned to the world and realized that he was alone, forever alone in the darkness, and it was all his fault.

Suddenly he tasted leather, and he felt one of those cold hands pushing his down. He immediately stopped biting, because he knew that could only be Alphonse, and he was not about to cause any more pain to the most important person in the world. Salt from his tears mingled with the blood on his lips, making a sharp and bitter concoction he wished would kill him.

He could hear other movements in the room, shufflings and clinkings. But they weren't important. "It would be better," he gasped out, "if I...never existed..."

"That is _not_ true," came Alphonse's voice, with such conviction Edward couldn't help opening his eyes incredulously.

Alphonse looked strangely blurred and indistinct, his impassive red eyes glowing down on him. "Where would I be without you?" he asked softly, and even though his helmet allowed no expression, Edward knew that tone.

"You'd...be whole," Edward forced out. Someone else was touching him now, taking his arm and pinching it with a sudden tiny pain that was nothing in the face of the waves of agony that ripped through his body.

"Yes," Alphonse murmured, brushing Edward's hair aside with infinite care. "I would be whole...and I'd be the loneliest person in the world. You gave me this body so we could still be together, and that's all I want. I just want to be by your side."

Everything was slowly slipping away, growing blurrier than ever. Edward felt heavy, until he didn't even notice the pain. "I'm sorry..." he whispered one last time as his eyes slid shut.

"And I forgive you, Brother." Alphonse knelt by his brother's bed until Edward's breathing evened out again and the lines of pain smoothed away. Alphonse started to get up, but when he did he noticed that Edward's single hand clutched his in a death grip. The enormous suit of armor lowered himself back to the floor and sat with his brother through the rest of the night.


	70. Giddiness

**Author's Note: Well, turns out this chapter doesn't have much to do with giddiness after all. Originally, I was planning to just write a chapter about Al's transmutation because if there was ever a time they'd be giddy about something, it would be then. This thing kind of exploded beyond my expectations and merged with the guilt stuff from the previous chapter (I suppose that's because, subconsciously at least, I didn't feel it was properly resolved). As a sort of basis for this chapter, I used a line from Trading Yesterday's "Change My Name": "Because the pain defining me is holding me lifeless."**

**Timeline: AU-ish; postseries or end-of-series**

**Theme 70: Giddiness**

The time had come. At long last, the day they'd been reaching for was within their grasp. They'd changed over the years – Edward _had_ grown taller despite all appearances, and he'd become a little broader in the shoulder, a little more hardened and world-weary. There were the beginnings of wrinkles in his much too young forehead. Alphonse looked much the same on the outside, but inside he had matured, grown more confident and at the same time more careful. Each dent and scratch in his metal spoke of some lesson learned, some mistake never to be repeated.

The road had been long and difficult. So many failed leads, so many bright theories that had yielded nothing but a mouthful of dust. So many times, they had thought they were close, only to find their goal further away than ever. This theory hadn't seemed very promising at first, but the more they worked on it, the more it seemed that maybe, just maybe, it would work.

They hadn't begun to celebrate yet, hadn't even told anyone what they were going to do, because they knew better than most how human transmutation could go horribly wrong. So they had spent months on their theory, fine-tuning and perfecting it, testing it for loopholes and agonizing over the weak points. Then Edward had spent six weeks turning their theory into an enormous transmutation circle. Alphonse had wanted to help, but Edward wouldn't let him, saying, "I need you to check my work for mistakes. Don't let the smallest mistake in."

He drew and redrew the circle, crumpling it up if his pencil moved a millimeter off course. While Edward slaved over the diagrams, Alphonse located and purchased with Edward's research funds an old automobile warehouse with enough space to accommodate them. He sterilized the building, made it airtight, and transmuted over the windows so no one could see them work. Then Edward drew the real circle, sketching it in chalk, then carving it into the floor and filling the cracks with black ink so the lines wouldn't be smudged. Usually Edward drew circles by eye, gauging the angles mentally. But this time he used protractors and rulers and compasses, because everything had to be absolutely perfect.

Half a year had gone by since Edward had first suggested the idea, almost as a joke: "Hey, Al. What if, in return for your body, we gave the Gate all the pain we've felt over the past few years?" And now, here they stood, looking at the fruit of their labors. The circle lay stark and black on the white floor, an awful, terrible thing for an alchemist to behold, even though there was a certain artistry and genius to it. It was a jagged, fierce-looking circle, full of sharp arcs and shapes that almost looked like horns and glaring eyes. It spoke of pain, which was the point, but in the middle was a simple protective circle like the eye of a storm, which was where Alphonse would lie.

Edward turned from smoothing over the wall where the door had been; checked their neat pile of first aid supplies, blankets, food, and clothes for Alphonse; and then turned to look his little brother in the eye. He let out a long breath, then nodded. Alphonse nodded back and walked into the center of the circle, lying down carefully to make sure his body was positioned in the exact middle.

Edward knelt by the edge of the grim circle, facing Alphonse's side so that Alphonse could turn his head and look at him. This simple, thoughtful action made Alphonse's whole being swell with affection for his brother. He hadn't even realized that he wouldn't be able to see anything in front of him, not in this position. Edward sat perfectly still for several long moments, just looking at his hands clenched on his thighs. Then he drew a breath and met Alphonse's gaze. His face was pale and nervous, his lips pressed tightly together as if to keep them from trembling.

Alphonse was nervous as well. They were moments away from a transmutation that, one way or another, would change their lives as surely as the last time they'd attempted human transmutation. Without a real body, Alphonse couldn't feel all the physical indicators that his brother could. He didn't feel butterflies in his stomach or the pounding of his heart. But the emotion was just as real without them.

The moments dragged out longer and longer as Edward just sat there, staring. What was he waiting for? "Are you ready, Brother?" Alphonse asked, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice. They had to do this carefully, but the longer they waited the more unbearable it became, knowing how close he was to regaining his body.

Edward swallowed, the convulsion of his throat a tiny movement that Alphonse, lying halfway across the room, could barely see. The alchemist who had pressed on for so many years, come up with this theory in the first place, and spent months preparing for this day lowered his head in defeat. His long bangs swished across his forehead, hiding his face from view, and his whisper ruffled them only slightly. "I can't."

Alphonse stared at his brother, trying to pierce through the veil of his hair, trying to decipher the dozen emotions wrapped up in that harsh whisper. Alphonse didn't say anything, but the unspoken question lingered in the air: _Can't, or won't?_

Edward hugged himself, as if this stuffy room was cold. He stared at the black lines he had etched into the floor himself, and shook his head. "I want you to have your body back, Al. I want it more than anything. But I..." He shook his head again.

Alphonse's nervous impatience stirred up the embers of anger. "What are you saying?" he said tensely. "You're going to chicken out at the last minute? When we've gotten this far? What's the problem? You've worked so hard on this! We got rid of all the mistakes; your theories are perfect!"

Flinching as if that was an insult, Edward raised his head a little, peeking out between his bangs. "That's what you said last time," he said softly. "Perfect, my theories are always perfect. But what if I mess up like I did last time?" He raised his head the rest of the way, gazing at Alphonse with eyes stricken with guilt. "Every time I've ever tried to make things better, I end up hurting you. I don't want to hurt you anymore."

"No, don't..." Alphonse felt like crying as he gazed across the gulf of guilt and loneliness that separated his brother from him. No matter what anyone did or said, nothing stopped Edward from blaming himself for everything that had gone wrong. "That's why we're doing this, remember? To give up all this pain. You can stop feeling guilty about everything now. Not everything is your fault, Brother."

"I'm...scared." Edward would not have admitted this to anyone else, and most of the time he even tried to hide his fear from his brother. But now he looked pale and terrified, frightened enough to let down his tough mask. "You don't know what it was like...that night. When everything went wrong, and I was all alone. When I...c-called you, and you wouldn't answer..." His voice grew higher and more fragile, trembling on the verge of tears or panic, or both. "I don't want that to happen again."

Alphonse's spirits fell even further. This was the problem with his brother – he always kept everything bottled up inside, so by the time it all spilled forth, he was a wreck. "Well, it won't, if you keep backing away from it. But you know what'll happen as well as I do. If we walk away from this, you'll never stop regretting that you didn't try it when you had the chance. You'll look at me, and you'll keep on blaming yourself for keeping me like this. You'll hold onto this guilt, and it'll never let you go. Let go of your pain, Brother. You've got enough of it to pay for my body ten times over."

They gazed into each other's eyes for another long moment, then Edward hastily dropped his gaze again. "Sorry," he told the floor. "Sorry for hesitating. We've gotten this far; I should at least try." He placed his hands almost lovingly on the dark, thick lines he'd drawn. "Um...what if it _doesn't _work?"

A deep, dark pit opened before them at such a suggestion. Alphonse imagined limping around in a worse condition than he was now, or even worse, his brother facing life without him. In desperation, he threw a rope of light across that chasm, hoping it would reach to the other side. "Then I still love you, Brother."

A single tear dropped onto the thick line between Edward's hands, but the line did not smudge. Even as it fell, pure gold light sprang up along all the lines of the circle, bringing those harsh arcs and angles to life. Edward let out a grunt of pain, but the light only shone brighter. The light blazed up, projecting the circle onto the ceiling and the walls till it seemed they were surrounded by those awful shapes that leered at them and mocked their pain.

Alphonse couldn't see his brother anymore, but the hissing, shimmering sound of the alchemic reaction couldn't drown out the sounds Edward was making. Alphonse was all too familiar with those gasps, those panting breaths and suppressed cries. It seemed that those had been the soundtrack of their lives for the past six years. Everything caused pain anymore – automail, enemies' attacks, and Edward's own self-reproach. Alphonse was safe in his inner circle, unable to feel anything but a strange giddiness as the golden light skittered across his blood seal, not harming him but not quite leaving him the same either. He knew this transmutation was performing an impossible reaction, replacing his metal with flesh, but he couldn't quite believe it was happening.

Suddenly Edward was no longer just making the familiar pained sounds. He was screaming. He screamed and sobbed and cursed and shouted barely-understandable apologies at everyone he had ever met. More than even their mother, he screamed out constant apologies to the brother who lay mere feet away, listening with astonishment to what had tormented him.

Alphonse felt as though those screams were tearing into his soul. Edward had always done his best to shield him from the hurtful world, but shields always end up getting hurt themselves. Edward endured all this pain, had come up with this idea in the first place and never shrank from it, because of Alphonse. And here he lay, not even lifting a finger to help. Tentatively lifting one heavy hand, Alphonse pushed it through the barrier of light and pressed his palm against the ancient script that read _donum fac remissionis._

_Grant me the gift of absolution._

Pain such as he had never felt rushed through Alphonse. Not pain of the body, for his body was still made of metal. If it had been physical, Alphonse thought it might have been bearable because at least it would mean feeling something. But this was pain of the mind and pain of the soul. Everything that had ever tormented him through the long days and even longer nights in the past six years ripped through Alphonse, and he was forced to relive all of the painful memories he tried his hardest to suppress.

Alphonse screamed as loud as his brother, and their voices wound around each other, spiraling up to the ceiling like a geyser of torture. Then suddenly, everything was silent. The light sank back into the floor, leaving behind only steam. The echoes of their screams faded into the walls, leaving behind only harsh breathing. And the pain! The pain was gone, leaving behind only a bone-deep weariness that made Alphonse just want to lie where he was and never rise.

He opened his eyes when he heard someone moving towards him. His head was still turned towards his brother, and he watched as Edward emerged from the clouds of steam, crawling on hands and knees with little winces as he moved muscles that had spasmed and tightened too many times. Their eyes locked, and Edward came to a stop at his side.

Edward tore his eyes away long enough to make sure that Alphonse was intact. Alphonse drew in his breath as he felt his brother's fingers gently prodding him, as if neither of them could quite believe this wasn't a dream. Then Edward looked back into Alphonse's eyes, and Alphonse wondered if the armor had made Edward's face look flat and bland, because now it leapt out at him with vibrancy and precision. And before they could look away again, before Edward even rose to make another door or get something to cover Alphonse with, they said things they had never said before. Or perhaps they had, but they had never really listened.

"I'm sorry, Al."

"I forgive you."

And as the sun dispels the fog, so their pain was instantly swept away.


	71. Premonition

**Author's Note: Took me a while to figure this one out. The immediate thought that came to mind was Al's premonition that the human transmutation wouldn't work, but that seemed too obvious. As I thought about it more and more, I decided that that situation was probably the only one that would work with the prompt, but I wanted to do something different, something more. This idea came on me slowly, over the course of several weeks, but I wasn't quite sure how to go about writing it until the Tucker stuff hit me like a ton of bricks out of the blue. Then I wrote it in a flurry and fiddled with the ending for a long time, because I didn't want it to end **_**too**_** depressingly. I think this is a sufficiently bittersweet ending.**

**Timeline: None**

**Theme 71: Premonition**

Alphonse always blamed himself for the transmutation that ruined the brothers' lives. It sounded irrational at first, because it had been Edward's idea from the beginning, Edward had originally suggested finding an alchemy teacher, and Edward had made most of the breakthroughs that made the transmutation possible. But Alphonse still insisted it was his fault, because he had felt a premonition that their plan wouldn't work, and he was never forceful enough to make his brother stop. He said that if he'd followed that nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach, they would still be whole now.

Edward knew that wasn't true. Not only did he know that they would never have turned away from the path they'd chosen, he knew that they would never have been whole. The reason they hadn't fallen into despair in the first place was because they had a goal to work towards, something to fill their lives with meaning and allow them to ignore the gaping hole in their lives that was their mother. If they'd given up before they tried, they wouldn't be the same people they were now. Beyond merely their metal trappings, neither of them would have the confidence, the drive they had now.

Still, Edward could never call their choice a good one. Perhaps it was the only one they could make. Perhaps things had turned out all right after all, in the end. But even so…they were broken, and it was all his fault. Alphonse was the one who always said he'd had a premonition, but Edward had had a bad feeling too. The thought had nagged at him several times as he wrote his theorems and drew drafts of the circle that he hoped would bring their mother back. What if they failed? What if the dead were never meant to be brought back to life? What if those taboos had been placed there for a reason?

But Edward always pushed those thoughts away. He told himself over and over, "Nothing will go wrong. Everything can be solved with logic, alchemy, Equivalent Trade. We'll see Mom again." He silenced every word of doubt, till he had convinced himself that he couldn't go wrong when it came to alchemy. He built up pride inside himself, and he should have realized that pride comes before a fall.

The plummeting feeling in his chest as the glorious golden light turned a sickly shade of purple reminded Edward of all those ignored premonitions. As Alphonse screamed, "Brother!" over and over again, reaching for him as his whole body disintegrated, Edward heard his voice accusing him repeatedly. _This is your fault. You should have listened to me. I told you it would go wrong._ Even if Alphonse always insisted that he had never considered putting the blame all on him, Edward blamed himself, and that was enough.

Because Alphonse didn't realize the darkness of his dear brother's heart. When they confronted Shou Tucker a year after that horrible night, what made Edward gasp, shout in protest, and try to pummel that psycho to death with his metal fist, wasn't just his horror and disgust at what Tucker, a man he'd admired and liked, had done to his daughter. He wasn't filled with righteous indignation that such a depraved man would draw a comparison between them and try to justify himself. No, what chilled him to the bone was that Tucker was _absolutely right._

Tucker said that he'd done what he'd done just for the heck of it – just to see if it would work. It had been partly for his lifestyle, but mostly just to experiment and test the limits of science. And what Edward realized as those crazed eyes met his own was that he'd been exactly the same about his mother. Part of his desire had been to bring her back, of course, to live with her again, to stop Alphonse from crying. But something had risen inside of him as he stared at her tombstone. A desire to prove himself, to step onto uncharted ground. _What if I made it work?_ he had thought. _Everyone would say what a genius alchemist I am. They'd say that I was a revolutionary scientist._ More than the recognition or fame, he just wanted to see what would happen – like a fascinated child reaching out a finger to touch a glowing light bulb, just to see if it was really that hot. And like that foolishly curious child, his curiosity burned him.

If it had just been that – just a burned finger, just a rebound that took away his leg and left a mess on the study floor – Edward thought he could live with it. He could take his wounded pride, become a humbler person, a wiser person. He could have gone through life, having learned his lesson. But it hadn't affected him alone. No, the worst part of it was that he'd dragged Alphonse into it too. He'd doomed his little brother, the only family he had left. He'd stripped away his whole body, caused him so much fear and pain...and for what? Just to see what would happen?

No one should be harmed because of their brother's pride. Edward was certain of that. It should have all fallen on him. And because it hadn't...he could never forgive himself. Not really. Alphonse would tell him earnestly, voice echoing around that wretched metal prison, that he'd forgiven him of everything. But Edward never told him that he'd willingly given up his baby brother for curiosity, because he was ashamed of himself. And he didn't think he could stand seeing that same shame and disappointment mirrored in the eyes of the person who meant the most to him.

Maybe someday he would tell Alphonse. Someday, when they'd got their bodies back, when he'd paid the full price for his foolish pride, he would look into those grey eyes and tell him. And then? Would Alphonse hate him forever, or would he do the unthinkable and forgive him? Only time would tell. All Edward knew was that he would love his little brother the same, no matter the outcome.


	72. Drawing a Boundary Line

**Author's Note: (Sorry for not posting a chapter last week! ^^' I'm posting two today to make up for it.) When taken in its original concept as a Royai theme, this one obviously brings up thoughts of the boundaries Mustang and Hawkeye have to set up between themselves due to their circumstances, not letting themselves act like the lovers they truly are. For obvious reasons, this doesn't translate too smoothly to Ed and Al, and there's not the same easy way out. So I decided to do a completely different sort of "boundary line". I think this is probably the first time I've ever written about the brothers' training, because that part of the story has never really captured my imagination much. So I thought it was a good idea to branch out with this one.**

**Timeline: their stay on the deserted island**

**Theme 72: Drawing a boundary line**

"Brother," Alphonse whined, "I'm _hungry._"

"I know, okay?" Edward snapped irritably. "Just shut up a minute."

They were sitting on the large boulder that jutted out over the water on the south side of the island. Ten-year-old Edward could see the fat, juicy fish wriggling around beneath him in the crystal-clear water, but no matter how long he sat there, none of them were biting the little worm he'd so painstakingly dug up earlier. The sun beat down on their already-burnt faces and the backs of their necks, and the heat added to the discomfort of their hunger made them both irritable.

They'd already been on this stupid deserted island for five days, and all they'd had to eat were some sour berries and robin eggs they'd had to eat raw because they couldn't figure out how to cook them over their little campfire. Edward's stomach had actually stopped growling, and now was just a dull ache in his middle that weakened him all over.

"This isn't working," Alphonse sighed when they'd been sitting there for another ten minutes and the fish continued to ignore the tantalizing worm. "Are you sure that was actually a worm and not just a slimy piece of root or something?"

"Of course I'm sure!" Edward snapped back, more viciously than the occasion warranted because of his own frustration. "If your big fat shadow wasn't hanging over the water, maybe the fish would actually bite!"

Alphonse bristled at the word 'fat', which was an absurd adjective when his cheeks were already starting to look hollow from lack of food. "Maybe it's your _short_ shadow that's the problem!" he retorted.

Edward leapt to his feet, throwing aside his makeshift rod in fury. "_I'M NOT SHORT!_" he bellowed, so loudly that the birds actually stopped singing for a moment before continuing their cacophony.

"If you weren't short," Alphonse sneered, "you could actually get us some food instead of sitting there and being useless!"

"Useless?" Edward spluttered, feeling heat unrelated to the late afternoon sun rising in his cheeks. "Use- _Useless?_ I don't see you getting us anything to eat, Mr. Smarty-Pants!"

"You're the one who should be getting the food! This was all your idea in the first place!"

"All _my_ idea, huh?" Edward demanded, stepping closer and glaring an inch upward into his little brother's face. "Who was it that said we couldn't just learn things out of books anymore? Who said we needed an alchemy teacher?"

Alphonse gritted his teeth and refused to back down. "If it wasn't for you, we wouldn't be in this mess. We might have found a different teacher, one who wouldn't leave two helpless kids on a deserted island in the middle of nowhere with nothing to eat! This doesn't even _have_ anything to do with alchemy! What kind of a teacher is she?"

"A different teacher?" Edward cried, his voice getting louder and louder. "What different teacher? Nobody else for fifty miles even knew how to make a single transmutation circle! What were we gonna do?"

"We could have stayed home where we belonged and forgot all about this."

"Forget _alchemy?_" Edward shouted incredulously. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "How on earth could we forget-"

Alphonse gripped his hair and screwed up his face. "I don't _care_ anymore, okay? I just want to go home where I can eat a hot meal and sleep in a real bed. We're going to die here before too long!" His voice took on that whiny sound again, the one that had been grating on Edward's nerves for hours.

"Yeah, I _hope_ you die," he said nastily, shoving Alphonse back a pace. "That'll give me one less thing to worry about."

"I hope you die too." Alphonse pushed Edward harder. "You're a horrible brother; you can't even take care of me."

In a burst of rage, Edward shoved Alphonse so hard he fell onto the ground. "Then maybe you're aren't my brother anymore!"

Alphonse was already on his feet again. "Fine!"

Edward raised his fists, ready for a fight, but all Alphonse did was grab a long stick and draw a line in the sandy soil between them. "That's your side of the island, and this is mine. I can take care of myself!" He turned on his heel and stalked off, dragging the stick through the ground to continue the line all the way to the other side of the little island.

"Yeah, good riddance!" Edward yelled after him, but Alphonse made no response. Edward sat down sharply and grabbed his fishing pole again. He practically whipped the string back into the water, making all the fish scurry away as fast as they could swim. Edward swore under his breath and sat there as the sun slowly sank under the horizon, muttering darkly to himself.

* * *

Alphonse wearily put one foot in front of the other, drawing a boundary line that swerved increasingly as time wore on. He'd been walking for what had to be hours, and still he hadn't reached the other side of the island yet. It hadn't looked very big, but when you were exhausted and weakened from lack of food, it became like a desert that stretched on and on as far as the eye could see. He stumbled through the jungle, his stick bouncing over roots and vines, and he could hardly see where he was going.

He could tell it was night time from the sounds around him and the darkness that clung to the trees. The temperature had also dropped considerably, so instead of being sweltering, it was just humid and cool. He thought, from time to time, of stopping for the night, but he didn't want to let his thoughts catch up to him. His anger at his brother had long since abated, and he felt more lonely than ever before in his life, to not have his brother at his side to talk to and commiserate with. He didn't want to stop long enough to remember what they'd said to each other, because he knew he would feel guilty and miserable if he did.

But he hadn't eaten properly in a long time, and his legs felt weak beneath him. Finally he collapsed onto the ground and couldn't gather up enough energy to rise again. He just lay on his front in the dirt, too exhausted to gather some of the leaves and make a bed for himself, or even to roll onto his back to try to see the stars through the tree cover. His eyes slid closed and he fell into a weary, uneasy sleep.

Alphonse woke to a sound he'd already come to dread. There was a rustling of leaves, then heavy footsteps and loud breathing. Slowly, he opened his eyes, unable to believe that this was happening _now._ The moonlight shone down through the tree branches, illuminating the little clearing he'd stumbled upon. The large figure of a burly man stood in the center of the clearing, carrying a heavy wooden club and dressed in his usual attire – rough woolen pants and a mask that covered his face with a demonic one that looked even more frightening than Alphonse had remembered. His heart began to thump within his chest and he felt more awake. At first he wasn't sure if the monster had seen him yet, but then he realized it was stalking directly towards him.

Fear gave Alphonse the strength to push himself to his feet and begin to run away from the monster, back through the forest. He could hear those heavy feet pounding on the ground behind him. He ran as fast as he could, but his steps soon began to flag as what little strength he had gave out. He knew what was going to happen, but the dread was not enough to prevent it from happening. The monster caught up with him, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, and slammed him into the trunk of a tree – just hard enough to bruise him and knock all the breath from his lungs. Alphonse could feel large hands pressing his face against the rough bark as the monster breathed heavily in his ear. He squeezed his eyes shut against the fear and the pain and gave himself up for lost.

Suddenly the monster let go of him with a grunt, and Alphonse slid onto the ground. He lay in a crumpled heap among the roots of the tree, gasping for breath and clutching his bruised ribs. He was vaguely aware of a confusion of sounds – scufflings and shrill cries and deep grunts, and smacks as of people fighting with their hands. Groaning softly, Alphonse lifted his head enough to see what was going on. He could scarcely believe it, but there was his brother, fighting as hard as he could against the monster who was at least three times as big as he was. Edward was agile, and could slip underneath the monster's widely-planted legs to surprise him from the back, but he was just as weak and weary as Alphonse, and rage and desperation would only give him so much strength.

As soon as Alphonse tried to move, his whole body protested. He gritted his teeth and forced his battered body to obey him, clutching the tree for support as he got his shaking legs underneath him. He swayed on the spot, but he glared at the monster who was now placing his foot on Edward's chest as the boy feebly tried to pick himself off the ground. Alphonse forced his weak knees to obey him as he staggered forward. "Let him go," he said, his voice quavering through the air, sounding ludicrously weak and thin. "Let my brother go!"

The monster stared back at Alphonse for a moment, then inexplicably turned and stomped off, leaving the brothers slumped on the ground in the middle of the forest. Alphonse stood rooted to the spot for what felt like a long time, then he slowly collapsed onto the ground again. He looked over at his brother, coughing and gingerly feeling his chest. Then his eyes seemed to close out the world for a while, and when he could see again, Edward was looking down at him. "Can you walk?" he asked softly.

Alphonse wanted to say 'yes', but the effort to even nod his head seemed far too great. Edward slipped his arms around his shoulders and carefully helped him sit up, then stand. Alphonse's knees shook underneath him again, but Edward slung one of his arms over his shoulder and helped him walk. They stumbled through the forest together, Edward guiding them, until they reached the familiar clearing with the bed of branches and the little fire pit.

Edward deposited Alphonse on their crackling bed, then went over to the fire pit and picked up something from the shadows. When he turned around and Alphonse saw what it was, his mouth watered. Edward held up a fat fish a little longer than his hand, somewhat burnt but looking so delicious Alphonse thought he would die before it could be transferred into his hands. But when Edward handed it to him and sat down beside him, Alphonse made himself pause long enough to say, "What about you?"

"Just hurry up and eat it before I change my mind," Edward said, staring at the fish hungrily.

So Alphonse bit into the crisp flesh, and it was the most wonderful thing he had ever tasted, even if Edward's cooking skills were questionable. He made himself stop when he'd devoured half the small fish, though, and handed it back to his brother. Edward stared at him with a strange expression, then devoured the rest of the fish and licked every last bit of meat off the bones.

It hadn't been very much food, but Alphonse felt a little revived after eating it. He gazed at Edward until his brother finally decided there wasn't any more meat to be had and tossed the bones away. "Why did you save me?" Alphonse asked quietly.

"That's what brothers are for, stupid," Edward said, but this time his tone was soft and fond rather than harsh and insulting. "What, did you think I was gonna let you die or something?"

Those words were the exact opposite of the last things he had said before they parted. Alphonse smiled for the first time in a long while. "Apology accepted."

Edward abruptly turned so his bangs were hiding his face. "Let's get some sleep."

They lay down on their prickly, hard bed, not much less hungry or tired than they had been before, but much happier. After a few minutes, Alphonse crawled over and lay his head against his brother's chest, just to feel that he was close and there were no boundaries between them anymore. Edward put an arm around him and kept him close, even though the night was warm and they both began to sweat from their combined body heat. Right then, sweat and some discomfort were less important than knowing they would always be there for each other.


	73. Parting

**Author's Note: Very soon after I bought Within Temptation's album The Heart of Everything, I got the idea for this story. One time when I was listening to the last song, "Forgiven," I thought it sounded like a very tragic story, possibly the Elric brothers. (Probably what made me think that was the line "Time has passed you by.") Then I got to the second verse, and tears came to my eyes at the devastatingly beautiful lines, "Watch the clouds drifting away/ Still the sun can't warm my face." The words, the associations I'd made to the brothers, and the heart-wrenching violin notes all convinced me that I'd have to write some story about this. Then as I was looking through the themes, I noticed this one, and I thought it was tragically fitting. I also used "Falling Out Of Love" by The Age of Information as mood music, since it seemed to fit the atmosphere. I like the way this has turned out, though it ended up quite a bit longer than I was expecting. I actually got tears in my eyes as I was writing the paragraph beginning, "Alphonse knew him so well." And that's something that's only happened once before. I can bawl my eyes out over something I read, but when I'm the one creating the story, it hardly ever cuts me to the quick like that. The three bits of poetry in this story are from Shakespeare's **_**Romeo and Juliet,**_** Elizabeth Barrett Browning's 43****rd**** sonnet, and "A Song For You" by Leon Russell.**

**Timeline: Postseries**

**Theme 73: Parting**

Edward let the screen door bang shut behind him as he slowly descended the steps to the Rockbells' front yard. The morning was chill and foggy, the sun nothing but a watery circle just peeking over the hilltops. But Edward didn't need to see where he was going; he'd memorized every step of the path he now took. He trudged through the dewy grass, feeling the frigid moisture with the sole of his right foot. He always forgot to put on shoes. Winry would yell at him for getting grass stains on her precious automail. Could you get grass stains on metal?

Edward sank to the cold grass when he reached the river, and leaned up against the tree he'd found the other day. It was a good climbing tree, with plenty of branches so no one could see you until they came up close. But this time Edward couldn't summon up the energy to hide. If they wanted to find him, they'd just have to come and get him, and he'd come at his own pace.

Sighing, Edward looked blankly over at the fog clinging to the farther bank of the river. He always felt so lethargic, so empty of the motivation to get up and do _anything._ It was strange, after so many years of pressing forward as fast as he could go, but he never felt like doing anything about it. There wasn't any reason to do anything, anyway. He'd lost that reason a long time ago.

It was strange, how everyone else seemed to have learned how to go back to their normal lives, but he still hadn't figured out how to do it. Or even if he wanted to. Because what was the point of doing all the things he used to do, when the main reason he'd done them was gone?

He'd done his share of crying and carrying on back when it had happened, and all that was done now. It had been months since he'd shed a tear, since the nightmares had stopped, since he'd tried to kill himself in any way possible. All that belonged to his old self, the one that screamed and raged against the world. Now he was mellow, blank, flat. Lifeless. They all said he was healing. That he was learning to cope. But they were idiots. You could bandage a wound and give morphine for pain, but there was no way to heal a wound on the inside. It stayed with you forever, and just because you started reacting to it a different way didn't mean you could really live with the pain.

The doctors had told Winry and Granny that his medicines would make him like this for a while, that he'd seem blank, but the doctors were idiots too. Nobody seemed to realize that he'd stopped taking those stupid pills a long time ago and now just flushed them down the toilet. He'd started doing it just to see if anything changed, if anyone noticed. But he'd confirmed his theory: He had died inside along with his little brother.

Edward wondered why they had bothered to stop him when he'd tried to kill himself, why they still bought those expensive medicines for him even though it was obvious he wasn't getting any better. Why did they care? He wasn't even the same person they'd known before, so why didn't they just let him finish the job his brother's death had started? When she'd caught him trying to strangle himself about four months ago, Winry had told him hysterically that they all loved him and didn't want him dead. But why? He deserved to die.

He'd killed his little brother. As surely as if he'd pulled a trigger. Let's bring you back, he'd said. It's time now. You don't have to wait any longer. And what had happened? He'd totally screwed up. When he went back after it was all over and looked at his circle again, he realized that he'd repeated a section of symbols around the edge. A little slip-up, and it had killed his baby brother. He would never forgive himself.

They'd rushed Alphonse to the hospital as soon as possible, but it was just too late. They'd kept his heart pumping and forced him to breathe with their emergency measures, but Alphonse just wouldn't breathe on his own. Edward's slip-up had seen to that. As the doctors and nurses tried one last time to get his lungs working again, Alphonse's eyes fluttered open. The doctors claimed he couldn't be conscious, but Edward knew otherwise. He was standing at the foot of the bed, and when Alphonse's eyes opened they immediately fell on him.

Edward had grown up understanding his brother with such a depth that sometimes they didn't even have to say anything to each other. And in that moment, Edward saw with a crystal clearness the message flickering in those eyes he knew so well: _It's all right, Brother. I'm not afraid to die._ Then his eyes had fallen shut again, and though the doctor hadn't called it yet, Edward knew that his little brother was dead.

He hadn't been able to save him. He'd promised, again and again, he'd worked for five long years, to get Al in his body again and make him whole. But in the end, as always, he'd failed. He'd failed to save their mother, failed to reach their father, failed to bring his mother back, failed to bring all of his brother back, and now... Had he ever actually succeeded in anything? Wasn't he just an ugly wad of failure all the way through? He was so stupid to have made that little mistake that had doomed his brother. Only an idiot would have made a mistake like that. He was even more of an idiot than the people around him. He should have realized that it would never work, that it was too good to be true. But he'd gone ahead and done it anyway.

Edward had loved Alphonse. Still did, in fact. He'd loved him so much that sometimes it hurt. Sometimes he'd looked over at his brother and his whole chest had seemed to throb with the intensity of his affection. Sometimes he'd watch the way Alphonse sat, hunching himself as small as possible in his huge body, carefully turning the pages of a book or calmly looking around himself…and Edward would feel the insane urge to just throw his arms around his big metal brother and hold him tightly, metal spikes or no metal spikes.

And now... Now he felt none of that. And it was all his own fault.

His whole life, Edward had tried to protect his little brother from harm. Whether it was from elementary school bullies or thugs or Homunculi, Edward had always fought to keep Alphonse safe. When someone had insulted him or made him doubt himself, Edward had protected him with everything he had. But in the end, he had dealt the killing blow himself, and slain his little brother in the moment of his new birth.

Yet at the same time, Edward felt a dim, far-off resentment at Alphonse. How could he have left him? How could he have left him all alone like this? Alphonse knew how important he was, how Edward lived only for him. Now that he was dead, what on earth was he going to live for? He had no purpose anymore.

Edward looked up and saw that the fog was steadily disappearing, the clouds parting to let the sun shine down on him. But though the morning sunlight shone down all around him, he couldn't feel its warmth. There was no warmth in the world, not now that the only source of warmth was gone. Ironic, how a cold suit of armor could seem so warm to him. But that cold suit of armor had glowed with love and the joy of being alive, and whenever Edward had felt the chill touch of a hollow, heartless world, all he'd had to do was turn to Alphonse, and there was his rest, his warmth, his safety. Losing that was like being plunged into an icy lake.

Reaching his hand up to the sun, Edward wished there was some way he could reach into the heavens and pull his brother back. "I need you, Al," he whispered, the words torn from his soul. "I can't go on alone. Don't you see what a mess I've become without you?" Slowly, slowly, like a deep pool gradually filling with water, an unfamiliar anguish billowed in his heart. He felt as though he was dying, as though this pain that his heart had become numb to was slowly choking him. "I should have died," he murmured, looking at the sunlight sparkling on his bare automail arm, his voice slowly growing stronger. "I should have died, not you. I always deserved to die, but you didn't. It was all my fault, so why did you have to suffer? _Everything's ended so wrong!_" He shouted it to the heavens, to the horribly cheerful blue of the midmorning sky.

But of course there was no response. That was the absolute worst part of this. Edward had been so used to having Alphonse there, always there, ready to talk when he needed it, or at the very least to maintain an understanding silence as articulate as words. Now, that was gone. Edward kept on turning to tell his brother something, but his brother was never there, and there was no one he could tell. He was locked in silence, because no one would understand him if he thought of something funny, no one would instinctively know when he needed to talk, no one would be there to just listen to whatever senseless thoughts appeared in his head.

Edward wondered how he'd never realized what an essential thing it was to be able to talk with his brother. He'd never appreciated it as much as he should have, and now that he finally understood what an undeserved blessing it had been, it was too late. He missed Alphonse's voice _so much._ How he longed to hear that tinny echo, that little laugh he knew so well. What weighed his heart down so much was knowing that he would never, ever, _ever_ hear that voice again.

The morning crept on as Edward sat slumped against the tree in his doomed silence. He had no inclination or energy to rise and go anywhere or do anything, so he just sat there, hearing the meaningless twittering of the birds and the inane burbling of the river. They neither knew nor cared that Alphonse was gone, and they could give him no comfort. Finally, he heard footsteps approaching, but he still didn't move.

As he'd suspected, it was Winry come to fetch him and fuss over him. "There you are, Ed," she said in a gentle, understanding voice. "I was wondering where you were. Why don't you come up to the house? We're going through...Al's old things."

Before Edward could even register the slight hitch of pain in her voice, he sprang to his feet with more energy than he'd felt or displayed for many, many weeks. He grabbed Winry's wrists and slammed her against the tree. "What did you say?" he shouted, his heart hammering against the inside of his chest.

Winry struggled against his right arm, which was clenched tightly around her wrist. "Ed, stop, you're hurting-"

"Don't you _dare_ throw anything away!" Edward sprang away from Winry again, racing with all his might up the hill towards the house, oblivious to Winry calling after him. His mind and body seemed to be working double-time; he'd suddenly realized that every last piece of his little brother he had left was in the study, in the piles and boxes of possessions Alphonse had accumulated in the Rockbells' house.

Edward thundered into the house and tore through the hallway to the study, practically tearing the door off the hinges. "Don't touch anything!" he roared.

Pinako jumped, her pipe nearly falling from her lips. "Don't scare me like that, Ed!" she said, trying to sound stern.

Edward was breathing hard; he hadn't even run in a long time. "Get- Get out," he panted. "Let me do this. Myself."

Pinako got to her feet, setting the small box of photos down on the floor. "Don't worry, Ed," she said softly. "We won't get rid of anything if you want it."

Something in her voice sounded hurt, almost, though he couldn't quite tell from her expression. Edward stood awkwardly in the doorway for a moment, then stepped aside and mumbled, "You can...look at stuff...when I'm through, if you like."

Pinako nodded. "I suppose we should have asked you first. Take all the time you need." Then she left Edward standing in the middle of the room, feeling lost in the wake of these sudden emotions of anger, fear, and shame.

Edward stuffed his fists into his pockets and stared at the small heap of boxes in the corner of the study. He felt as though he had woken up after a long night, but he was still sleepy and grouchy. He wondered why he'd never thought to look at these things Alphonse had carefully set aside the day before the transmutation. At first, he hadn't been able to bear the slightest thought of his brother without drowning in despair, and after a while he'd forgotten all about these neat little boxes.

"Sorry, Al," he murmured softly to the silence. "I didn't mean to forget about you."

He sat down and gently pulled a box of books towards himself, pulling one book out after another, slowly thumbing through the pages. Most of them were alchemy books with notes in Alphonse's careful hand in the margins, but then he came upon a small brown book so worn he couldn't make out the title. Edward had seen Alphonse reading this many times over the years, usually during the long nights when he couldn't sleep. He'd always assumed it was some sort of private notebook with Alphonse's theories written in it, so he'd never thought to ask what it was. Yet as he opened it, he saw to his surprise that it was a poetry book.

Suddenly Edward noticed a tiny bit of paper sticking out partway through the book. All that he could see of it was the handwritten word _Brother._ Edward flipped to that page as fast as he could, and pulled out a scrap of paper torn from a notebook. It was a short letter, and Edward could easily recognize that handwriting.

_Brother,_

_If you're reading this now, I guess that means I'm probably dead. I don't mean that I expect to die, but there's always that chance. I don't want to die – you know that, of course – but I'm not really afraid to. The only regret I have is that I'll leave you alone. I know you'll miss me, and it will hurt you so much you won't think you can stand it. I'm so sorry I'm the cause of that._

_I know you blame yourself for what happened to me that night, and I know you'll blame yourself if I'm dead. But I don't blame you. I never have. You aren't at fault here; though you made some mistakes, you've always admitted them and given everything you have to make them right. I guess what I'm trying to say is: You may be in the wrong, but I forgive you, Brother._

_I love you._

It was only when a splotch of moisture appeared around the _e_ at the end of the name at the bottom of the letter that Edward realized he was crying. The word shimmered towards him through the tears in his eyes: _forgive._ Then he closed his eyes and let the sobs shake his shoulders. But these were not like the tears he had cried directly after Alphonse had died. The warm tears running down his face seemed to wash away the cold numbness and the guilt, and the sobs dislodging themselves from his throat seemed to rock him back and forth, like two enormous arms that always held him safe.

Alphonse knew him so well. He knew that Edward blamed himself, cursed himself, hated himself, for everything that had happened. And yet Alphonse could look at this wretched failure and say _I love you._ He'd never deserved such a wonderful person, yet Alphonse had always stayed by his side. Even in death, he'd left this message to reach his brother and tell him that, no matter what he did, no matter he went, no matter how many mistakes he made, they would always be brothers, and nothing would interfere with the love they had for each other.

Edward felt a warm glow burning away inside of him, and he realized that was where all the warmth had disappeared. These tears seemed to have unlocked his heart, and now when he looked around at the room, he could see the golden sunlight streaking in through the window, and he could feel the life stirring in the air. He could hear pots and pans clattering in the distant kitchen, and for a moment Edward thought he would burst with love for the two women who had taken such unceasing care of him over the past few months. Even when he'd treated them horribly, they could say that they loved him and didn't want him to die. Just like Alphonse.

Sniffing and wiping away his tears, Edward looked again at the letter in his hand. He turned it over, and saw written on the back two simple lines of poetry:

_Parting is such a sweet sorrow_

_That I shall say "Good night" till it be morrow._

Edward carefully folded the piece of paper and fetched out the pocket watch he still wore out of habit. He placed the paper under the cover of the watch, where it pressed against the inscription he'd made so long ago. Then he closed the watch and held it against his heart. Now he would have a piece of his brother wherever he went.

Putting his watch back in his pocket, Edward picked up the poetry book again. On the page where Alphonse's letter had been stuck, a small star had been drawn in pencil next to the page number in the top corner. There was a full poem on that page, and as Edward read it, tears threatened to pour forth again.

_How do I love thee? Let me count the ways._

_I love thee to the depth and breadth and height_

_My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight_

_For the ends of Being and ideal Grace._

_I love thee to the level of every day's_

_Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight._

_I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;_

_I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise._

_I love thee with the passion put to use_

_In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith._

_I love thee with a love I seemed to lose_

_With my lost saints - I love thee with the breath,_

_Smiles, tears, of all my life! - and, if God choose,_

_I shall but love thee better after death._

Edward sat there for a long time, basking in the words. He'd never bothered with poetry much before, but he liked the way these words danced through his mind, weaving into a soothing melody that eased his heart. And knowing that Alphonse had picked this one out especially made his lips tremble, then slowly turn upwards, and he found himself smiling for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. "Thank you," he whispered to the silence. But now, the silence felt warm and calm, like those times when the brothers would sit side by side and didn't say anything, because their mere presence said enough. And now Edward realized that Alphonse's presence was everywhere, surrounding him because he was forever in his mind and in his heart.

When Edward stood at last, he felt like a new person. He still missed the tangibility of Alphonse being alive, but a weight had been lifted from his heart, and he no longer felt lost and abandoned. He carefully placed the poetry book back in the box and left the study in search of Winry. After wandering from room to empty room, he found her where he should have looked first. She sat at her workbench in the back of the house, resting her chin in her right hand as she looked idly through a magazine of the latest automail leg models. Her left hand rested on the table, fingering the corner of the page, and Edward was shocked to see faint pinkish marks around her wrist. He looked down at his right hand and felt faintly sick.

"Winry," he said carefully as he came into the room.

She looked up in surprise to see him standing behind her. Blinking at him as if to figure out what was different about him, she said, "Yes?"

"How's...your arm?" he asked, choking on the words.

"Oh, it's a bit bruised, but it'll be okay." Winry spoke lightly, but she turned her back on him as she rubbed her wrist. He thought he could detect a hint of coolness in her voice.

"I'm really sorry," Edward blurted out in a rush. "I shouldn't have done that, it was just that I was scared and angry 'cause I realized I'd forgotten all about that stuff Al left, and I know you've been helping me out a lot even though I'm a jerk, but then instead of thanking you I just go and do something like that, and-"

"Ed." Winry had turned around and slowly risen to her feet, her beautiful blue eyes wide and filled with tears. "Did you just say-"

"I'm sorry!" Edward repeated, clenching his fists and looking down at the floor. "Because of me, you've had to go through these hard times, you've had to take care of me and my issues, and...I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Ed," she said, her voice trembling as she wrapped her arms around him. He could feel her hurt hand pressed against the small of his back. "I forgive you."

Edward closed his arms around her as well, shutting his eyes and resting his head on her shoulder. She couldn't know how much those words meant to him. "How could you put up with me all this time?" he wondered aloud.

"I thought you'd be able to figure that out, genius. I love you."

_I love you in a place where there's no space or time_

_I love you for my life, you are a friend of mine_

_And when my life is over, remember when we were together_

_We were alone and I was singing this song for you_


	74. Great Distance

**Author's Note: Originally I was going to write something like this for the previous theme, "Parting." But when I figured out something better to write for that theme, I decided to use this idea here. I took a lot of inspiration from the David Hodges song "Daylight", which made me think of the brothers lying on their backs, looking up at the sky and talking all the way through the night before they had to part for some reason. If you think their reactions are too over-the-top, this is exactly how I feel about my brother leaving for college and the rest of his life. We're not as outwardly intimate as the brothers, so we wouldn't do all of these things, but the thought of him leaving for huge chunks at a time shatters me.**

**Timeline: Postseries (a year before "Conversation")**

**Theme 74: Great distance**

_For my Nii-san_

_And for NewMoonFlicker  
_

It was only when Edward unlocked the door to their apartment after two long hours in their favorite restaurant that it struck him how little time was left. He'd grown too accustomed to the suitcase sitting in their room, open and gradually filling up with alchemy books and spare socks. He'd gotten used to the idea that Alphonse was leaving, but it had never quite clicked that it was happening _now._ It always felt so far off, but now all of a sudden, here it was, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

The end of the world had snuck up on him when he wasn't looking.

Alphonse bustled around the apartment, packing up the last few of his belongings. Edward made an attempt to go about his business as usual, flopping down onto the sofa that was falling apart and poking the protruding stuffing with his toe while he wrote a few feeble sentences in his report for Mustang. But really he was listening to his brother's movements, cherishing every one because he knew this would be the last time he heard them for a very long time.

Finally around nine-thirty, Alphonse clicked off the bathroom light and stepped into the bedroom. Edward strained his ears, and he almost thought he could hear the springs groaning in the bed. He remained frozen for a few moments, then got up and got ready for bed himself. Even the bathroom looked different now, with Alphonse's toothbrush and razor gone from the edge of the sink and his shampoo bottle missing from the shower. Edward lingered as long as he could in the bathroom, as though by moving slowly he could make time stand still.

At last he could stall no longer, and went into the bedroom himself. Alphonse was just a dark lump at the other side of the room, lying very still on his bed. Edward tiptoed over to his own bed and lay down as quietly as he could with those creaky springs. Oh well, that was what you got when you bought second-hand furniture because you'd spent most of your savings on alchemical supplies. Edward looked over at his brother's silent form and realized with a pang that this would be the last time for a whole _year_ that they would sleep in the same room. He quickly turned his head to the wall; if he kept on thinking like that, he'd start to cry or something. And the only problem with sharing a room with your brother was that there was no way to hide that you were crying.

The clock on the wall ticked away the seconds, and all Edward could do was lie there and feel as though their beds were slowly drifting apart as if they were floating on a great, wide sea. He curled himself up onto his side, focusing on a crack on the wall as hard as he could so he wouldn't have to think about it. He tried to count imaginary sheep jumping over the crack as if it was a fence, but counting sheep had never worked very well for him. He always ended up wondering where the sheep came from and why it had to be sheep in the first place, and then his mind became so engaged that there was no _way_ he could ever fall asleep.

Suddenly he heard a loud creak and the mattress sank down considerably. Edward jumped and half-rolled over to find Alphonse climbing into the narrow bed beside him. "Scooch over!" he hissed.

"I _am_ over!" Edward protested, and they tugged back and forth on the sheets for a while until they were reasonably comfortable, lying on their backs and squished together like sardines in a can. Then they lay there like that, staring up at the ceiling as if they could see the night sky beyond. They'd done this many times before – well, maybe not _quite_ like this; usually they were lying in the grass in Risenpool with a lot more space between them – and lying next to his brother where he could share everything from his silliest thoughts to his deepest fears, he felt utterly safe and content.

Alphonse started first, just talking about whatever came into his head, and soon they fell into their accustomed way of talking together – interrupting sometimes and talking over each other, but listening to everything the other said as if it was the most important thing in the world, because in these moments, it was. They talked for hours, never growing tired of it or running out of things to say. Edward thought he would never run out of things to say to Alphonse, not even if they both lived to be ninety-nine. His brother was the only person in the world he could be sure would listen to every single thing he said without laughing it off or belittling it, no matter how stupid it was. He might _say_ it was stupid, sure, but he would say it in a manner that said _I gave it some thought, but I still think it's stupid._

As the hours passed, they laughed some and argued a lot, but there was no distance between them, and that was what Edward liked the most. He could be completely honest at times like these, completely open without the slightest danger of being hurt in any way, and what was even better – he could reach out and _touch_ Alphonse. Their shoulders were pressed together, and though he couldn't feel it, he knew his left leg was tangled with Alphonse's. Their golden hair spread out across the pillow till they couldn't tell whose it was. And it didn't matter that the night was slipping swiftly away from them and every respectable person was fast asleep. For these last few hours, they were together, and the immediacy of each other's presence was all they needed.

But gradually they fell silent as the room began to lighten with the rising sun. The hands of the clock moved closer and closer to the time of their parting, but they didn't move to get ready and they didn't drift off to sleep even though they'd talked through the entire night. They listened to each other's steady breathing and the inexorable ticking of the clock. Five minutes passed in this manner, until finally Edward sighed and turned his head to the wall. "I don't want you to leave," he whispered. Those simple words seemed to tear away a piece of his soul as he spoke them, and suddenly the realization crashed over him that in just a few hours, Alphonse would be _gone._ He would wake up in the morning, and there would be no one yawning in the next bed. He would sit in his kitchen, eating his breakfast in silence because there was no one to talk to. He would go about his business without talking because there would be no one to listen. The silence would press in on his ears, and it wouldn't be like this silence of two people who know each other intimately and don't need to fill the seconds with meaningless babble. It would be a dead silence, closing in on him like the jaws of a cruel iron snare.

"I don't have to leave," Alphonse said quietly after three deafeningly loud ticks of the clock.

Edward closed his eyes. It was so tempting to urge him to stay here. Alphonse could study in the Central library. He could stay home and study, and every night when Edward came back from a Colonel's endless paperwork and phone calls, Alphonse would be there to welcome him home and discuss some obscure alchemist's theories that he didn't understand. It would be like having a family again – not that Alphonse hadn't been family during all those years of endless travel, but it would feel more permanent and normal. Edward clenched his right hand, gritted his teeth, then said, "No. You have to."

Alphonse said nothing, because they'd gone over this a dozen times before. They both knew it was one thing to study alchemic theory, and quite another to have hands-on experience. They knew Edward had really only gained the State Alchemist title because of his ability to transmute without a circle. They knew that Alphonse's skills were rusty, and they knew that the best way for him to brush up on them and improve was to return to their master, who would shout at him for returning when she'd disowned them as her apprentices, but would help him nonetheless. They knew that since Edward was a Colonel now, he had too many responsibilities to come to Dublith for a whole year.

What they didn't know was how they would survive the next twelve months.

All of Alphonse's other friends would easily cope with his absence, Edward knew. The men in the office would carry on with their work, the landlady would drink her tea with just Mr. Snuffles, her big tabby cat, and eventually would stop asking him where that dear boy Alphonse had gone. Winry, who'd come to see him off, was used to not seeing her best friends for huge chunks at a time, and if this chunk was a little longer, it wouldn't really interfere with her daily life. But Edward couldn't imagine what he'd do with himself without his brother around. They'd never been separated for more than a couple weeks at a time, yet now he was facing an entire year with no Alphonse.

Edward opened his eyes again, and turned his head to look back at Alphonse again. "I'll miss-" His voice died in his throat as an enormous lump grew larger and larger in his throat, obstructing his breath. He couldn't finish his sentence, because those words could never be enough to express the way he felt about Alphonse leaving.

Alphonse looked right into his eyes, into his soul, and he understood everything that couldn't find its way out into the air as concrete words. Rolling over on top of his brother, Alphonse grabbed fistfuls of Edward's shirt and buried his face in the fabric. Edward wrapped his arms around him, feeling Alphonse's heart beating against his stomach. The two shed a few tears, but they weren't ashamed of them, because they, at least, could understand why this was so hard.

"Can't we just stay like this?" Alphonse whispered, but they both knew the answer to that. How fleeting these moments were! All too soon, the clock read the time they needed to get up and get ready to go to the station. Alphonse broke away just far enough to look into his brother's eyes. "Brother..." he murmured, "what if...something happens? Before we see each other again?"

Edward's heart clenched. Any number of things could happen between now and then. Alphonse's train could derail and crush him into tiny pieces. Any number of criminals could attack Edward on his trips, and maybe this time he wouldn't make it out alive. They could get sick and die, or some utterly ordinary accident could harm them. There was no real protection against these things when they were together, but it would be unbearable to learn that something had happened to one of them while the other was gone. "Then I'll say it now," Edward finally replied, looking steadily into his brother's silvery-grey eyes. "I love you."

Alphonse held him tightly again. "Love you too," he mumbled.

Edward could feel Alphonse's chest pressing tightly against his own, and his long-fingered hands pressing against his back. He could smell Alphonse's hair falling over his face. He could hear the breath moving in and out of his lungs, punctuated by an occasional sniffle. And Edward smiled despite himself, because when this great distance of time and space opened between them, they would be able to look back and remember this time when nothing separated them. That was how they would survive the coming year.


	75. Why?

**Author's Note: At first, I despaired when I saw this theme. What a broad subject! There are so many situations where one of the brothers could be asking "why?" Way too many to choose from. But as I began to think about it, I decided against the "why did you leave me?" route, because I've already done both of their deaths multiple times. There were still many reasons for the question, though. Then I remembered the Secondhand Serenade song "Why", and so I listened to it again. That's always sounded like one of those lost love songs to me, so I wasn't sure it would spark anything, but for some reason this time it took on a different connotation. The chorus especially struck me: "Why do you do this to me?/ Why do you do this so easily?/ You make it hard to smile because/ You make it hard to breathe/ Why do you do this to me?" Seen in this new light, which will become obvious by the end of this chapter, it takes on a whole new meaning. I took a few liberties in changing the dialogue in these scenes, and I only hope that I haven't made Ed too OOC. I just exaggerated his agitation a bit.**

**Timeline: Episode 8 (first anime)  
**

**Theme: Why?**

Edward didn't want to do anything. He didn't want to talk about what had happened, didn't want to dwell on what had stolen his sleep from him the night before, but most of all he didn't want to be forced to go through the papers of the psychopathic freak who'd done it in the first place.

He was angry with the world. Slamming books down in piles and thrusting food between the bars to feed Tucker's other depraved creatures, Edward wanted nothing more than to keep on pummeling that monster right in his stupid grinning face. He wanted to break that guy's nose and blacken his eye and knock his glasses off and _show_ him what a horrible thing he'd done.

"How long are you planning to sulk like this, Brother?" Alphonse asked from where he was going through stacks of loose sheets of paper. Then he went babbling on about the Philosopher's Stone and how they could use it to get their real bodies back. How long it seemed since Edward had cared about that. How could Alphonse be getting so excited about a stone no one even knew existed for sure, when the very sun in the sky felt dim and cold?

"Shut up about the Stone already," Edward finally interrupted. "It doesn't exist! It's just a bedtime story."

"But if a bona fide State Alchemist like Mr. Tucker was doing research on it, it must-"

Edward leapt to his feet at the mention of that man and threw the bag of chimera feed at his brother's face. "I'm not touching anything that lunatic's written!" he roared. "You've already forgotten about Nina!"

As her name left his throat, his windpipe seemed to close behind it and he could feel a great well of emotion rising inside his chest, threatening to burst forth like it had last night, when he'd cried enough for both of them and shouted at his superior officer for everyone to hear. He couldn't stand the prospect of opening that wound again, so he covered it up with anger, and left Alphonse alone in Tucker's lab, slamming the door after himself before his brother could stop him.

He had to _do_ something. He had to take his mind away from the memories of the man he'd trusted so completely, _laughing_ when he told him what he'd done to his only daughter and how similar Edward was to him. He had to force himself to forget about the blood spattered on the alley wall, like a spray of brilliant red paint, a masterpiece that made his heart shudder to a halt. He stomped down the walk from the Tucker mansion to the street, trying not to remember how Alexander had jumped onto him on that same walk, or the carefree hours spent laughing and playing with a girl who felt like the little sister he'd never had.

Needless to say, he had little success, so by the time he reached the street, he was running. Running away from his memories. Running away from his guilt. Running away from himself. He ran till his legs ached, till his breath came short and painful in his chest, till the military headquarters building came into view. He slowed to a halt, breathing hard and gazing up at the green and white flag hanging down the front, then marched forward purposefully.

He handed back the pocket watch he'd spent months trying to win, gave up the best chance they'd ever have to get their bodies back, and he didn't care a bit. He didn't care that it meant he'd have to live with automail the rest of his life. He didn't care that people would talk about him, whispering and wondering why the new State Alchemist had given up so soon. He didn't even care that he was dooming his little brother to a half-human existence. Alphonse couldn't be human anyway. He wasn't crying or getting angry or showing _any_ signs that Nina's death had affected him at all.

And there he was now, hovering next to the entrance and waiting for him to come out. Edward walked stiffly by him without so much as glancing at him, and even though he heard the familiar clunking footsteps behind him, he didn't acknowledge his brother's presence. Alphonse didn't care. He didn't care that Nina was gone, didn't care that Tucker had betrayed his own family, didn't care that Edward was in such pain he wished his heart would explode so he could die and stop _hurting_ so much. All Alphonse cared about was getting his stupid fat body back. See? There he went, talking about some dumb thing he'd found out about the Philosopher's Stone, about how they needed to grow stronger, stay in the military and study alchemy so they could help cases like Nina-

"Shut up, you freak!" Edward shouted, whirling around to face his brother, who had frozen in shock. "Don't talk to me about Nina when you don't even care yourself!" He left Alphonse rooted to the spot and raced off again, feeling the rage and desperation of his circumstances and finding pleasure in pouring them all out on someone else. He told himself he was in the right, and _made_ himself believe it.

Edward closed his mind to all thoughts of Alphonse for the next few hours, as he poured himself into investigating Hughes's serial killer, convincing himself that it had to be the one who had killed Nina even though she'd been blown up instead of chopped to pieces. He found a small measure of comfort in avoiding all painful thoughts. He pressed forward in anger.

But after he'd figured out where the killer was, after he'd gotten knocked out and tied up in a chair without his arm, he couldn't keep his thoughts away any longer. As he desperately managed to transmute his chains into a metal pole and narrowly avoided getting sliced with a massive butcher knife, he realized that without two arms he was just a fifteen-year-old kid who would end up much like Nina had. As he jammed his right arm back into its socket, ripping a scream from his throat as all his nerves went on fire, he realized how stupid he'd been to think that Alphonse didn't feel Nina's death as keenly as he did. Alphonse was just a much wiser person, who saw that since they couldn't change the past, they should work to change the future. And as he desperately fought off the madman with the butcher knife, getting narrow cuts on his flesh arm while he tried to fend away the knife with his metal one, he felt a terror and despair more piercing than anything Barry the Chopper could come up with, because if he died he would never be able to apologize to Alphonse.

Then he threw Barry onto the floor, and with a wild yell he raised his arm and was about to slice the butcher's head off, when he felt a sudden hand on his shoulder. Jumping with a feral cry, he whirled around and slammed his sword-arm into Alphonse's metal chest. Police clustered around them, training their weapons on Barry, but Edward paid them no attention. He had eyes only for his brother. He stared up into the face he thought he'd never see again.

"It'll take more than that to kill me, Brother."

Edward stared at him. After all he'd done, after all the cruel things he'd said and the horrible way he'd treated Alphonse when they both felt the pain, Alphonse had cared enough to find out where he'd gone, and had come to save him. After all that, he didn't come with accusations or anger or grudges. He just came, the same as always. What had Edward done to deserve someone like that? How could Alphonse be so selfless and forgiving to such an idiotic jerk?

Edward gazed at his little brother, blood trickling down his arms and his mouth still open from his scream. Tears began to fall from his eyes. "Why?" he whispered.

Alphonse put a heavy hand on his brother's shoulder. "Because."


	76. Watching Over You

**Author's Note: This took a ridiculously long time to write, not really because I didn't know what to do, but just because I could never seem to find time to actually sit down and write it. I knew I didn't want to write yet another chapter of Al watching Ed while he sleeps or something like that, so I decided to make Ed be the one doing the watching. I took inspiration from the time I had strep throat (during Christmas break, no less -_-); I'd say that's the worst health-related experience I've ever had, barring surgery. All I could do was lie around in torment and think about the things Al thinks about here. Yep, every one of those thoughts were mine once upon a time.**

**Timeline: Postseries**

**Theme 76: Watching over you**

Alphonse blazed in the middle of an inferno of heat and pain, and he wanted to scream, but with every slight sound that left his throat, it seemed to explode with never-ceasing pain that just coiled around and around him, trapping him forever. He was a prisoner in his own body, and he wanted to claw his way out, but he knew that could never happen. Oh, if only he could be an amorphous soul with no sensation whatsoever...

Somewhere, in the midst of this torture, Alphonse marveled at how normal everything had felt just yesterday. After a little over a month in the hospital, he'd finally been allowed to leave, and he and his brother had headed immediately for Risenpool to see the Rockbells. Everything had been wonderful yesterday, with the joy of seeing the people he could almost call family, and the pleasure of sitting around the table and actually _eating_ with them. He'd gone to bed so content, with only a slightly sore throat that caused him no concern because there were sure to be plenty of cold germs hanging around the trains, what with all the people who came in, coughed and sneezed, then left.

But then he'd woken up in the middle of the night, as suddenly as if someone had slapped him, and he sat bolt upright with a horrible realization as he felt a sensation he hadn't felt for years: He was going to throw up. He'd gotten halfway down the hallway before his stomach began to heave, and he ended up collapsing on all fours just outside the bathroom door, bringing up all of that wonderful meal and the two pieces of apple pie he'd eaten slowly and carefully, savoring every mouthful.

And it seemed that ever since his brother had stepped out of their room, bleary-eyed and concerned, and helped him back to bed, he'd been locked in this torment. He'd lost all track of time, for the days and nights blended into what seemed an endless torment. Between the hot, unreal haze that he knew was fever, he remembered Granny Pinako examining him and slipping a thermometer under his tongue, then pronouncing that he had strep throat. He was vaguely aware of the three other people in the house coming in and out, trying to get him to eat bland toast, feeding him medicine... But none of them could really take away his discomfort; all he could do was weather it out.

"Put me back in armor," he croaked to his brother several times, before bursting into another violent coughing fit that felt like great knives stabbing through his throat, bringing tears to his eyes and taking his breath away.

But of course Edward did nothing of the sort. He tried to explain that Alphonse's immune systems weren't as strong as they used to be, that this illness just seemed worse than anything before because Alphonse was still new to sensations. But there was nothing simple about this pain, nothing to make it go away, and no amount of encouraging words would be enough for him to wait for it to go away. Alphonse could only lie on his bed of agony, staring stupidly up at the ceiling in between coughing fits that he always expected to bring up blood.

His thoughts ran in strange circular patterns, unable to settle on anything for more than a second or two, preventing him from even taking his mind off things by reading. He found that his most coherent thought, and the one that popped into his head most often, was: _Spaghetti. I really want to eat spaghetti._ He didn't know why it seemed so appealing to him at the time, unless the pattern of cracks in the ceiling reminded him of a gleaming pile of noodles on a huge plate. He knew he had to content himself with just dry toast, and it seemed that was what he had always eaten. And he couldn't stand it anymore.

Finally he opened his eyes – he didn't know how many days had passed since this had all begun – and the room seemed a little clearer than usual. The sunlight peeking through the window told him it was afternoon, and judging from the utter silence of a nearly empty house, he guessed that it was Wednesday – market day. That meant that Winry and Granny were off in town. What about his brother? Would he go with them? _He'd probably love to get out of this house and stop taking care of me all the time,_ Alphonse thought, thinking back over all the times he'd opened his eyes to see Edward sitting tirelessly at his side, ready with a dose of medicine or a cool cloth to put on his forehead.

As Alphonse lay looking at the empty chair next to his bed, listening to the empty silence, he gradually became aware of a great thirst. He looked at the bedside cabinet and saw that his glass was empty. He waited as long as he could for someone to miraculously come along and ask if he wanted something to drink, but of course no one did. Alphonse lay in a stupor for several long moments, staring at that horribly empty glass and realizing that he'd have to get up and get a drink himself.

Finally he threw the covers off and sat up. The room dipped and spun around him, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut and sit there for a minute before his head stopped whirling. Then he carefully stood and made his way to the door, clutching at the wall to keep his balance as the floor seemed to buck like a ship on the open sea. His legs were shaky and didn't seem to want to support the weight of his body. All he wanted was to lie down again, but he had to get that drink to soothe his burning throat.

Alphonse seemed to inch forward at a snail's agonizing pace, and the hallway seemed to stretch endlessly ahead of him. He grew wearier and wearier as he progressed, as the very floor beneath his feet seemed to be fighting with him and hindering his movements. He somehow made it to the top of the stairs, but then he had to sit down on the top step and hang onto the banister so he wouldn't fall right over where he sat. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the banister as well, taking deep breaths. _I just need to rest a bit,_ he thought. _Then I'll go the rest of the way._

He didn't know how long he sat there, as the minutes blended into each other and he sat swaying slightly, unable to summon the strength to go down the stairs. Even the distance back to his room seemed immeasurable. When he blinked, it seemed that his eyes remained closed for a long time as he floated halfway into sleep, then his eyes would open again and he would stare blankly ahead, listening to his breath whistling in and out of his open mouth.

Suddenly Alphonse became aware of his brother standing at the foot of the stairs, looking up at him. It was as though his longing had summoned Edward there, and he could only blink at him at first, sure he would fade away when his eyes opened again. Then Edward took the stairs two at a time, and in no time he was bending over him. "Al, what're you doing out of bed? You're supposed to be resting."

"I was thirsty, so-" Alphonse's words were cut off by yet another powerful cough that made his whole body shudder and tears streak down his cheeks from how it stung his swollen throat.

Edward sighed and picked up his little brother with only a small grunt of effort; Alphonse had gained weight since regaining his body, but he was still much lighter than Edward. Alphonse clung to his brother's neck as he was carried quickly down the hallway it had taken so much effort to cross by himself. Then he was descending onto his soft bed again, and he sank gratefully into the bedding, closing his eyes as his spinning head settled again.

He wasn't aware of any time passing until Edward propped him up enough to take a drink of blessedly cool water. When Alphonse lay back against the pillows, Edward shook his head and sat back in his chair by the bed. "You're sick, so don't try to get up yet, stupid," he chided gently.

Alphonse dropped his eyes. "Sorry." He let his eyes rest on Edward's loosely crossed arms, then slowly said, "I'm...a big nuisance, aren't I?"

Edward's arms uncrossed. "Huh? What gave you that idea?"

"I was just in the hospital for a whole month, where you had to help me do _everything._ And the first thing I do when I get out is get sick all over again, and-" He broke off to cough again, clutching at his throat as if that would stop the burning.

Edward helped him take another drink, then leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and looked straight into Alphonse's eyes. "Hey, listen to me, okay? I'm your brother. Your _family._ Families are supposed to take care of each other, right? Watching over you isn't a problem."

"Yeah, but aren't you tired of looking after me for so long? You had to take care of me for a whole _month-_"

"And you took care of me for the past five years," Edward interrupted with a little smile.

Alphonse gazed up at his brother and thought about all the things he'd done as Edward listed them.

"You took me to Granny's and made sure I was okay when I lost my arm and leg."

_Please...help my brother! He's gonna bleed to death!_

"You took care of me after I got automail."

_No, you go ahead. I can't sleep in this body anyway. And I...want to sit with my brother._

"You came with me when I became a State Alchemist."

_You can do it, Brother. I know you can._

"You protected me in battles."

_Quick, Brother, get behind me! They can't hurt me like this!_

"You stopped me from doing things I'd regret."

_Brother, stop. Any more and you'll kill him._

"You were always there when I needed you."

_It's okay... I've got you... Don't worry, I'm right here..._

Edward's smile softened as he reached out and smoothed the damp bangs away from Alphonse's face. "I think it's my turn now."

Alphonse's heart swelled with emotion, but a great weariness overtook him and all he could do was touch Edward's hand and smile. "Okay," he whispered, then closed his eyes and slipped off into a deep sleep filled with healing.


	77. Implicit Rules

**Author's Note: This was another one of those themes that seemed to fit Royai much better than the brothers, since Mustang and Hawkeye actually **_**do**_** have full-blown codes and implicit rules of conduct so no one will suspect the way they really feel about each other and what their plans are. But Ed and Al aren't like that, really, so it took me a lot of thinking to decide what to do about this. I looked at a bunch of definitions of "implicit" for ideas, turning them around and around in my head, when suddenly it hit me that I could look at "rules" in a different light as well. I found another possible meaning for "implicit rules" and immediately knew that was what I was going to do.**

**Timeline: None**

**Theme 77: Implicit rules**

When I think about it, I guess a lot of things in my life are implicit. Unsaid. The kind of stuff you all _know,_ but nobody comes right out and says anything.

When I was a kid, there were so many things we never said. Not secrets, exactly, but just stuff we never even brought up because...well, for lots of reasons, really. The biggest taboo of conversation was that jerk Hohenheim. If anybody chanced to mention his name, or even something that might make you think of fathers or something like that, Mom would get this sad look in her eyes, and she'd kinda gaze off into the distance like she was somewhere far away, or at least she wanted to be. She wanted to go back to the times when he was around, and because she couldn't, she was sad. I hated that look. I hated thinking that Mom wanted that _idiot_ even after all he'd done, and I hated seeing her sad about anything. So I learned not to say anything, and I did my best to make sure nobody else brought it up either.

There were other things we didn't talk about – Winry's parents who died in the war, why our last name was Elric even though the bearded jerk married Mom, or that long crush Al had on Nellie, the neighbor girl. We just didn't talk about them, 'cause it was easier not to. If we talked about them, people would get hurt or upset, Winry would cry, Mom would get that distant look in her eyes, Al would blush and we'd probably get into another big fight. So it was just simpler to keep quiet about it and go on with normal life. Sometimes, you could tell that we all knew these things that went unsaid, but we all pretended like we didn't, and so we were okay. At least on the outside.

And then Mom died, and suddenly the pretend was over and we had to grow up all at once. Somehow, with Mom around it was easier to play at our normal lives, to forget about all these ugly things under the surface. Maybe that's because Mom pretended all the time too. She pretended that she wasn't thinking of Hohenheim every single day. She pretended that she didn't notice the insinuating comments or pitying looks that sometimes got thrown our way. She even pretended she wasn't sick, hid it from us for as long as she could just so our fake, happy little life would keep on going. I wonder sometimes if part of the reason she got sick was because she was pretending she was okay when she wasn't. Maybe if we'd asked some of those questions, it would have been hard at first, but in the end we'd be better off. Maybe we could have saved her before she ever died.

But because we grew up like that – pretending, not talking about stuff – we just kept on doing it even after she was dead. Al and I kept our human transmutation plans a secret from everybody; we didn't tell Winry or even our teacher. Even between the two of us, there were some things we didn't talk about. Like how Mom was dead, or why Hohenheim didn't answer any of our letters, or whether what we were doing was actually okay. We talked about that stuff a few times, but really I think we were scared to talk about them too much, so we didn't. Again, we pretended. Pretended that things were fine, that _we_ were fine, when really we were just putting off the pain till later, when we should've realized that we had to deal with all this sometime.

And you guessed it – once again our pretending didn't pay off. Exactly the opposite. We went and screwed ourselves up worse than before, because of all the stuff we knew but didn't say, because of us stupidly thinking we could worry about that later, after we'd got Mom back and had our pretend life back to the way it was. I wonder sometimes if we would've stopped if we actually talked about all that stuff we dropped as soon as somebody mentioned it. Maybe we would've just gone ahead and done it anyway – I know I'm stupid enough to do that – but maybe we would've realized that we were just fooling ourselves and stopped pretending.

But because we went through with it, even after all our plans backfired, we just went right back to pretending like we always had. We should have realized – _I_ should have realized – that something was wrong, that we needed to change or get better or just sit down and talk through everything and never mind if it hurt or not, because something's _not right._ But after all our plans crashed down around us and we were at the darkest place of our lives, I guess somehow we felt like facing all those unspoken things would be even worse than it had been before.

So even now, after all we've seen and all we've been through, there are still things we don't talk about. Seems like it's the most important stuff that never gets said. Stuff like how everything that's happened is all my fault, or how Al thought I'd made him from scratch, or what the Philosopher's Stone is made of but we're still going after it. We don't talk about Al staying up all night, just sitting there all alone 'cause he can't even sleep. We don't mention the nightmares that make me talk in my sleep and say stuff I wish Al didn't have to hear. We don't tell Winry what happened to break my automail into so many pieces, we don't tell Mustang or Hughes or anybody else about our plans. Because somehow we think that if we don't talk about anything, we can just keep on pretending and won't have to face the music and somehow that'll be so much better, right?

We're such idiots. But even when I realize that, I just stay quiet all the same. After so many years of pretending and keeping quiet, I don't know where to start, and...I'm afraid to.

Still, it's not all bad. Even if we can't put everything into words, me and Al can just _tell_ a lot of the time what we're thinking. At least sort of. And at least for now, that's enough. It helps, 'cause Al doesn't exactly have a face now, so it takes a bit more to tell what he's feeling, but I've had so much practice at it that I can usually tell pretty good. When somebody's got a face, you can just tell what they're feeling from their expression, so they don't have to keep talking to tell you how they feel. I'm glad that even after I put Al in that thing, I don't have to ask him when he's smiling or whatever.

Not having to tell each other things comes in handy when you have to keep secrets from people, or fool enemies, or fight. We don't have to say everything, which saves a lot of time and a lot of yelling across the battlefield. But it's also nice when...when you _can't_ say things, you know? When it would hurt too much to say it out loud, but they know what you mean anyway, so it's okay in the end. I don't need to tell him when I want to be alone, and I can just _tell _when he wants me to sit up and keep him company so he can forget how different he is. We don't need words to tell each other that we _know_ and we _care._

Other people might have to say it, but our love is implicit. Because we trust each other implicitly.

And if that's what implicit is, then implicit rules.


	78. Truth and Ideals

**Author's Note: "Truth" is a word that has always been closely tied to the Elric brothers, so I instantly knew what I wanted to do with that. I wasn't so sure about "ideals," until I realized that there are two meanings to that word. When I looked at that word as meaning "the best possible thing," the beginnings of this chapter began forming in my mind. It didn't actually take long to figure out what I wanted to do, but things kept on getting in the way so I was a long time in writing this one.**

**Timeline: Midseries**

**Theme 78: Ideals and Truth**

Alphonse opened the door to the hotel room somewhat timidly. When he'd left to deliver Edward's report to the Colonel, his brother had been taking his frustration out on everything that wasn't fragile, valuable, or a suit of armor, and even though Alphonse had known he was in no danger of finding out how hard an automail fist could be, he'd been grateful for an excuse to get out of there.

But Edward wasn't kicking and punching everything in sight anymore. Now, he sat sprawled across the green couch in the center of the room, automail arm slung over the back and shoes unconcernedly planted on the green upholstery. Alphonse softly closed the door behind him and approached his brother, wincing inwardly to hear his loud clanking footsteps that rudely broke the silence. But Edward didn't look up, just stayed in his same slumped position with his bangs hiding his expression from view. Very useful, those bangs were.

Carefully, Alphonse lowered himself to the floor next to his brother. He'd learned, after dropping carelessly into one of this hotel's sofas, that it was better this way. Less springs and stuffing going everywhere, less money to pay the manager. Alphonse just sat for a while, wondering if he dared try to speak. He didn't think Edward was asleep, but when Edward got like this even Alphonse had trouble predicting what he'd do next.

In the end, it was Edward who spoke first. His voice was so low that Alphonse had to strain to hear it. "One year."

Those two bleak words seemed to hang in the air over their heads, pressing them down into the ground. Twelve months ago, almost to the day, Edward had received his State Alchemist license, and they'd started searching for the Philosopher's Stone in earnest. And everything that had happened since then had only served to prove how impossible this quest of theirs was. Every time they thought they had a lead, it turned to dust as soon as they pursued it, and Alphonse often felt as though they were handling ancient, fragile manuscripts that crumbled in their fingers even as they picked them up to examine them. It had been a year of nothing but setbacks and dead ends.

"We should've known it would take longer than this," Alphonse said quietly, hoping to cut through the oppressive shadow looming over them. "I mean...the Philosopher's Stone is the ultimate goal of every alchemist. If it only took this long to find it, then everyone would have one."

"The ultimate goal..." Edward murmured, but he didn't look at all encouraged as he tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling. Alphonse saw that his eyes were glassy, exhausted, disheartened. "The ideal. If we could just get the Stone, then everything would be right again. What a joke." He gave the ceiling a smile that looked more like a grimace of gut-wrenching pain.

"Are you all right, Brother?" Alphonse asked softly. Edward always took their failures harder than he did, so if Alphonse felt this much despair, he couldn't imagine what it was like for his brother.

It was a long time before Edward said anything. "We _had_ the ideal, Al. Do you realize that?" He sighed and turned his head away, those luxurious bangs hiding his face from view again. "We had Mom...we had each other...we were happy. But we didn't realize it until we lost it all. And so we tried to get our ideals back."

Alphonse gazed at his brother, not knowing what to say. He couldn't deny any of it, no matter how much he wanted to. And that meant there was no way he could offer any comfort, so he could only sit there uselessly.

"But it's time to face the truth now," Edward continued after a short pause, his voice low and intense. "We're never gonna get our bodies back. Every time we tried to get those ideals, we just end up losing something else that we didn't know was so important until then." He hesitated, and the stiffness in his neck, his refusal to glance over at his little brother, spoke volumes. "That's the way things work for us. Might as well give up now, before we lose anything else. The ideals won't ever be true, and that's all there is to it."

Alphonse gazed, stricken, at the slumped figure he knew so well. He almost wished Edward would start shouting and smashing everything in sight again, almost commented on his height just so he could put life back into that body again. But he didn't. He was as silent as though the visor of his helmet really _was_ his mouth, immovable and solid. What on earth could he say, when his own heart was nearly as heavy as Edward's seemed to be? He knew what to do when his brother exploded – grab his arms and apologize profusely to everyone in the general vicinity – but whenever Edward got like this, he was at a loss. When Edward was happy or hopeful, the emotions were so strong that nothing could hold him back and he could have spontaneously sprouted wings and flown right up into the sky. And when Edward lost hope like this...what could ever bring him back up again?

Edward Elric was definitely a man of extremes.

"I thought..." Edward mumbled after an even longer pause, in a voice so quiet it was almost a whisper. "I thought I could fuse ideals and truth with the Philosopher's Stone. I thought that was the way to get you back. But I guess that was just stupid. Nothing 'bout me is either anyways."

These words snapped something in Alphonse's heart, and he found himself speaking even though he was still at a loss for how to help his brother when he could hardly keep from screaming with frustration and despair himself. "Listen to me, Brother." He reached out and grabbed Edward's jaw, turning it to face him. The golden eyes were startled, which was at least an improvement over their listless apathy of a moment before.

"You're my ideal." Edward looked ridiculous, with his cheeks squished together between Alphonse's large fingers, his eyes wide and childish, his hair spraying every which-way, one shoulder slumped higher than the other and slipping out of his loose black shirt. But what did that matter? "You always have been. Through everything, all that we've lost. I wish Mom were still here, and I want to get our bodies back, but as long as you're here it'll be okay. And the only truth I need to know is what you've been telling me from the day I was born."

"What's that?" Edward asked, his voice slightly muffled.

What he was saying caught up with him, and the words choked inside him. He didn't have a throat, wasn't able to feel a lump growing in his throat or tears scratching at his eyes, but he couldn't say it. The words were everything and nothing, too much and far, far too little, and he couldn't voice them. So he reached over with his free hand and put it on top of Edward's head, pressing it as gently as he could when he couldn't feel it, and rubbing it back and forth slightly. He didn't know if his brother would understand – how could he _ever_ understand? – what it meant to him when his brother did that. What it had always meant to him. What it meant to him even now, when he couldn't even feel it anymore.

But Edward gazed back at him for a long, single moment, his eyes still wide, and Alphonse thought they grew a little moist. Then he smiled, his cheeks squishing even more than before, and the two of them looked utterly ridiculous in such positions. But what did that matter?


	79. Underwater no Futari

**Author's Note: This is one of those themes that I've always been dreading, because I've never seen a truly interesting use of this one. It took me forever to come up with something, but after a while I decided to use this one to fulfill a request I got a while back. Been a while since I'd done anything like this, so I thought it was a good opportunity. This ended up being very experimental in imagery and loose grammar, and I kind of like how it came out. This is another chapter in which I didn't put the theme in the text itself, for obvious reasons.**

**Timeline: Midseries**

**Theme 79: Underwater no futari**

_For ilikedan – You asked for it *evil grin*_

He was drowning.

Drowning in those eyes, like twin dark wells with the covers pulled across over his head. He flailed with his arms, tried to push those covers aside so he could get out, but he was sinking and his fingers came short of even brushing against them.

The man was talking. Taunting about something he couldn't comprehend. He said things like, "Where's your precious military now, kid?" and "C'mon, is that the best the Full Metal Alchemist can do?"

Oh, right. That was where this had all started. Somehow, this man had got it into his head that Alphonse was the Full Metal Alchemist, even though Edward had left him in a huff hours before. What had they fought about? He couldn't remember, couldn't think...

This man moved too fast, too _fast, _and Alphonse with his huge clumsy limbs- That was the argument. Alphonse kept tripping over the uneven ground and knocking into Edward, until finally he'd had enough. Oh, if only Edward could be here now! He could move fast enough for this man, could keep up with his-

But no, Edward wouldn't come. He said he'd go find the Philosopher's Stone himself. And he would. He could do it all by himself. He didn't need such a clumsy little brother slowing him down. And he, clumsy Alphonse, was submerged in an ocean of fear. The man had given up trying to attack the unyielding armor that covered what he must assume was Alphonse's body, and now he aimed for the joints, for the sections that connected the metal with leather. And Alphonse could do nothing to defend against him, to stop him from cutting through the leather in the shoulder, sending his arm clattering to the ground.

The man let out a triumphant laugh, thinking he had sliced off a whole human arm with just his small knife. The man ducked under Alphonse's desperate swipe, kicked him to the ground, and cut the bands that held his breastplate in place while holding down Alphonse's free arm. He raised his knife to strike where Alphonse's heart should have been, then stopped as he gasped in surprise to see that there was no one there.

Alphonse struggled with all his might, staring up in terror at this man, because he could see death in those eyes. Rarely had he been so utterly terrified, so afraid for his own safety. Because Edward was always there in a fight. He'd always stopped ruffians before they got this far, before they'd seen his blood seal scrawled across his back like a two-dimensional heart.

The man raised his knife, his eyes glued on the red transmutation circle, then let it fall and-

_CLANG._

"Get your hands off my _brother!_"

And Edward was there, screaming a thousand profanities to express how outraged he was that anyone would _dare_ lay a finger on his little brother. Alphonse struggled upright, unable to put himself back together because the leather had been completely severed. He hesitated on the edge of the duel, wanting to rush in and help but fearful of his lack of protection.

In the midst of fighting, Edward briefly glanced over and saw Alphonse's indecision. "Run, Al!" he shouted as he dodged and jabbed with his automail sword. "I'll take care of this boz-"

Alphonse leapt forward, but his one remaining fist landed on the man's temple a moment too late. He'd already taken advantage of Edward's distraction and plunged his little knife into Edward's chest.

Edward made a choking, gurgling sound as if he was drowning, then fell to the ground before Alphonse could turn around and catch him.

He was drowning again, they were both drowning. Drowning in Edward's blood. Alphonse crashed to his knees and reached out trembling fingers towards his brother, who lay gasping on the ground. Alphonse couldn't see where the wound was; there was too much blood, gushing out, pouring from his body like an endless fountain. The pool was widening every minute, beginning to lap against his knees.

Alphonse gaped, aghast, into Edward's pain-riddled golden eyes. "Sorry...Al," he choked out, blood beginning to dribble down his chin. "I'm sorry."

And he knew that Edward wasn't just apologizing for letting himself get hurt like this. He was also apologizing for their argument earlier, for all the arguments they'd had over the years, for everything he'd done or not done. "Forgive me?" His voice was plaintive and weak, and his face screwed up with even more pain.

"I forgive you, Brother," he quavered, placing a trembling hand on Edward's cheek. "Of course I forgive you."

"Good." His eyes softened, and for a moment Alphonse thought he would say something more, something encouraging, something about how much he loved him. But then his eyes unfocused, turned blank, went dull.

And Alphonse was drowning again. And drowning was bad, because water would wash off his blood seal. That's what Brother had said all those years ago, the first time Alphonse had ventured into the river, wishing he could feel the water rushing past his toes that no longer existed. Brother had said he couldn't get wet up farther than his waist, because then he might wash off the blood seal, and then his soul would go too. But Brother was swimming, swimming in that pretty red pool, and Alphonse wanted to join him. Brother could be mean sometimes, not letting him have any fun, coming up with all sorts of excuses for why he couldn't do what he wanted. But surely it would be okay this time, right? Because it was blood already, so it wouldn't matter if he went swimming in it, would it? Yeah, that would be okay.

So, with a joyful splash, Alphonse joined his brother under the red waves.


	80. Categorize

**Author's Note: Soon after seeing this theme, I decided that I wanted to make it be about one of the brothers thinking about the many nuances of the other, and how only they can discern them. It took only a little contemplation to decide that I wanted to categorize Al's use of the word 'brother.' In the Japanese version of both animes, Al never calls Ed anything but 'Brother,' and I've always thought that was such a lovely part of his character. Most people don't seem to pay much attention to this little detail, and those that do all have their own explanations for why that is. This is mine.**

**Timeline: None**

**Theme 80: Categorize**

'Brother' was one of Alphonse's favorite words. Anyone who had met him could tell that from the sheer number of times he used it, and 'brother' seemed to define who he was. But Edward was the only one who could accurately categorize all the different nuances of that word, and for that he deserved the title Alphonse gave him.

There was the ordinary, everyday 'brother' that meant no more than it seemed to, the 'brother' that everyone else heard when Alphonse said that word. Alphonse used it like a name, because for some reason he rarely used 'Edward' to address his brother. For as long as Edward could remember, it had been like that. He recalled only a few times Alphonse had called him by name, and those times cut like knives. There was some unmentionable rule between them, made at some point before memory began, that forbade the use of that name, and when this rule was broken, it was as though their entire relationship shattered around them. It was as though by saying 'Edward,' Alphonse denied that they _had_ any relationship at all, and they were just strangers. Whenever he broke this unspoken rule, Alphonse would later return to the 'brother's with a penitent sound in his voice.

There was the exasperated 'brother' that seemed to emphasize the second syllable in frustration. Unfortunately, Edward ended up hearing this one quite a bit more than he wanted to. It would come when he tried to get out of drinking his milk or eating his green beans; it would come when he used a few of his juicier insults on Colonel Mustang; it would come when he hadn't planned ahead well enough and got them both in trouble. When Edward heard that 'brother', he couldn't ignore it or pretend he didn't hear it, because that tone Alphonse used somehow wriggled its way underneath his most stubborn defense. When Alphonse said 'brother' in that way, Edward had to stop – grudgingly, with many complaints and excuses, but he stopped. When everyone else would have been at a loss or fought back and made him more stubborn than ever, Alphonse halted Edward right in his tracks and showed him his mistakes in a way even he couldn't deny.

Sometimes Alphonse said 'brother' with a proud tone, the word usually preceded by a stressed 'my' if he was speaking to someone else. He would use this one when Edward had done something impressive or unprecedented, and harked back to the days of their childhood when an element of hero-worship presided over their relationship. Though Edward wished he could hear this 'brother' more often, he knew why he didn't. Alphonse had seen him at his very worst, at his least heroic. He'd seen Edward fail not only as a hero, but as a brother, which was far more important. Edward wouldn't have blamed his little brother if that proud tone never entered his voice again, but it did from time to time, and it made Edward feel strong, as though he could go out and conquer the world.

The worst 'brother' Edward ever heard was the frightened one Alphonse screamed at him when the Gate dragged him in. With it, he seemed to pull on everything he had left, on all the strength of their bond, tugging and clinging desperately for anything that could save him. What made it worse was that even that 'brother' could not save him, and no matter how loud Edward screamed his name, no matter how desperately he reached for him, Alphonse still slipped away. Whenever Alphonse used the frightened 'brother,' usually in a questioning tone, Edward would remember that night and fear would gather in a cold mass in the pit of his stomach. He wished Alphonse wouldn't use that one so often.

But then there was Edward's favorite 'brother,' the one that Alphonse always seemed to use right when he needed it most, the one that spoke most truthfully of what their relationship was all about. Sometimes Alphonse said it in the middle of the day after a desperate fight, other times in the dead of night after a bone-chilling nightmare. Sometimes he would say it with his cold metal arms wrapped around Edward, other times when they were in opposite corners of the room. Sometimes it was after an argument, other times after they'd been rolling around on the floor, laughing helplessly. Sometimes it came seemingly out of the blue, other times it was the culmination of their whole conversation. But no matter the circumstances, it always served to calm Edward down immediately with its soft tones. The harsh 'th' lisped like a graceful loop in the middle of the word, framing the vowels and softening the 'r's till it seemed to be the most beautiful word in the whole world. That was the word Edward thought of when he looked up at Alphonse's steel profile, the word that reminded him why they were searching so hard for the Philosopher's Stone. It was the word that summed up his entire existence, because he was that word, and he lived for the times Alphonse called him by that word that was his true name.

Because every time Alphonse looked at him and called him that 'Brother,' Edward could hear in every echoing syllable, could see in every mote of light from his glowing red eyes, what Alphonse was really saying: "I love you."


	81. Footsteps

**Author's Note: It took me a long time to figure out what in the world I could do with something as dull as footsteps, and I always expected it to just be some short thing like this. Yet as I began to write, I discovered how much Ed's footsteps actually say about him, and even though I hadn't planned it out, I ended up making his footsteps convey just about **_**everything.**_** It also helped when one of my heels broke when I was out walking, and my shoes made different sounds.**

**Timeline: None**

**Theme 81: Footsteps**

Edward hated the sound of his footsteps. His right foot made that soft, sticky sort of _pat_ when he walked barefoot, like any ordinary foot. But his left foot interrupted this ordinary sound with a rude _thunk-creak-click._ The _thunk_ came from his heavy heel hitting the floor, the _creak_ was the movement of his ankle, and then his toes left the floor with a little _click._ Needless to say, he didn't like to walk barefoot anywhere except Risenpool.

But even when he wore shoes, his footsteps sounded different if anyone cared to listen. His footsteps were actually what clued in his master that he had an automail leg. Even when he walked normally, with carefully even strides, his left foot always came down more loudly than his right. It made him sound like he was limping. Like he was some stupid invalid with nothing but a stump for a leg. So Edward tried to mask this by stomping around loudly. If he made a lot of noise, no one would notice the differences in his footsteps.

What Edward hated the most was that his footsteps reminded him of all his mistakes. He always spoke of taking a step forward, or standing up on your own two feet and moving on. He always said it was better to have a prop if it meant you could stand tall, than to have to crawl forward on your stomach. But in reality, every time he heard the awful sound of his every other step, he cringed inwardly. It was like the conditioned response he had developed in those first days when he pushed himself to learn how to walk with automail. Every time he put any weight on his left leg, pain would shoot up his entire body and he would cringe. As the pain lessened, his response became merely a wince. But even after the pain completely disappeared, he continued to wince with every other step, because the sound of his metal heel hitting the floor had become associated forever with pain.

With effort, Edward managed to undo this unintentional conditioning and walk without wincing or even thinking about it, but the sound of his metal foot against the floor always reminded him of why he'd needed automail in the first place. Whenever he let it, the _thump-creak-click_ brought back all the guilt and shame he'd felt when he first realized he'd lost his leg from his own pride and stupidity. The _thump_ of his heel was the weight of his responsibility pounding down on his shoulders, the _creak_ of his ankles was the ache he felt whenever he looked across at his poor little brother and remembered what he once had been, and the _click_ of his toes was the ticking of the clock that measured how long they had until it was too late, until he would die or Alphonse would be destroyed. He couldn't muffle it with a sock, couldn't soothe it with the veneer of optimism the brothers usually maintained about their goal. All he could do was shove his metal foot into a shoe, square his shoulders, and stomp forward as loudly and purposefully as he could.

Maybe then no one would hear the limping footsteps of this wretched fifteen-year-old cripple.


	82. Words that Fade Away in the Chaos

**Author's Note: O.O Wow, I actually wrote what could be considered a drabble. This is the first time I've managed to write something this short. I felt an urge to write something more poetic than usual, and this theme was just vague and poetic enough to spark this little thing.**

**Timeline: None**

**Theme 82: Words that fade away in the chaos**

These are the words that fade away in the chaos.

These are the words that say everything, though they mean nothing.

These are the words I scream and only you hear.

The words that thrum in my diaphragm, echo in my chest, exhale to the air.

The words written into my DNA, imprinted on my soul.

Words that glisten in your eyes. Words that pound like a heartbeat of their own. Words that I speak, certain they will disappear, and then you look back and _see_ me. Words I struggle to form, until you say them first. Words I don't need to hear, but you tell me anyway.

These are the words.

This is my heart.

"Alphonse."

"Brother."


	83. Crowd

**Author's Note: I drew inspiration for this chapter from the title page of Chapter 10 of the manga, and my own experiences in open-air markets. You can get lost really easily in those places! Especially if you spend much time at one stall. You can get really disoriented. Ed's automail troubles were inspired by trouble I was having with my feet at the time, which caused me to put most of my weight on one foot.**

**Timeline: Midseries**

**Theme 83: Crowd**

Alphonse groaned softly to himself. He hated thick crowds like this. It wasn't that he hated there being so many people – he loved to people-watch, and seeing such a large gathering made him feel more alive. But at the same time, he had to be even more careful than usual, or he would knock someone over with an elbow, jab them with the spikes on his knees, or step on their toes with his heavy metal boots. Somehow, he'd managed to forget that going to the market meant a huge crowd, but he'd urged his brother to go so they could have some _fun_ before they left.

The crowd pressed in on all sides, people moving this way and that, squeezing past each other, shuffling forward, stopping at stalls. The air was filled with the cries of shopkeepers calling out their wares and shoppers haggling. A loud clucking and braying from farther down the street announced the stalls that sold live animals. Alphonse wished he could just find a corner somewhere so he could soak it all in in peace, because it reminded him so much of the market in Risenpool, only it was bigger and more exciting. He let the crowd sweep him forward, and he made for an empty spot a little ways ahead where he could catch his breath (so to speak) before venturing out into the river of people again.

"Phew!" he said with relief as he tucked himself into the little empty space behind a large stall. "There's a lot of people out today, huh Brother?" He looked down at his side, expecting to see a harassed thirteen-year-old, but to his surprise Edward was nowhere in sight. "Brother?" Alphonse looked out across the crowd, searching for a flash of red or a familiar, irritated face. As he kept scanning the crowd, he realized that it would be hard to see Edward with all these people who were so much taller than him.

Spotting a monument to the soldiers who had fought in some war or other, Alphonse made his way through the crowd to that intersection and climbed up on the plinth, looking out across the sea of faces. But nowhere could he see his brother.

With a sinking feeling that almost made him believe he had a stomach, Alphonse stepped down again and began to move back in the direction he'd come from. His brother was lost.

* * *

Edward was surprised to discover that he was enjoying himself. When Alphonse had suggested they go to the outdoor market, Edward had only given in because their quarters were so cramped in the cheap little hotel, and it would be miserable to be stuck there all day in the sweltering heat with nothing to keep him occupied except for his uncomfortable brother, his dark imaginings of Mustang's next taunts, and his aching automail.

The last idiot who'd decided to lead them on a wild goose chase for a fake Stone had done a number on him; his leg was crushed at the top so that it didn't fit quite right into the port, and enough of the wires in his arm had been cut so he couldn't move it past the elbow. He could deal with his arm without too much difficulty; when he got tired of it swinging around, he could stuff the hand into his pocket or fashion a makeshift sling with the arm of his coat. But he didn't know what to do about his leg. He'd had to fuse some of the metal together with alchemy for it to even stay on, and while all the connections still worked, the metal somehow jabbed his nerves the wrong way, shooting little stabs of pain up his thigh every time he put his foot down. He tried to limp and keep most of his weight on his right foot, but the constant pressure on that side made his hip ache. He couldn't wait to get back to Winry, even if she _would_ yell at him for breaking her precious automail when it wasn't even his fault. She'd probably yell at him for transmuting it too, never mind that if he hadn't he'd have to hop around on one foot.

All in all, the market offered a welcome distraction. Sure, the crowds were a bit thick, but it was a sunny day and that was to be expected. They'd never been to this eastern city before, and there was an exotic flavor to it that Edward wasn't accustomed to, because this was one of the major stops for merchants from Xing. Every now and then, he'd spot a group of Xingese; they rarely seemed to travel alone. The stalls themselves were also interesting. Besides the usual produce and boring kitchen supplies, some stalls sold brilliantly patterned cloth from Xing and beyond, while others displayed intricate Aerugan jewelry. A variety of scents assailed him, from an interesting blend of spices to the pungent odor of fish.

After buying some chestnuts a man was roasting at a corner, Edward strolled around the open marketplace, munching happily and making sure to keep close behind Alphonse, because his huge brother parted the crowd easily and saved him the trouble of struggling through himself. It was a little awkward to handle the paper bag of chestnuts and eat them at the same time, so in the end he stuffed the bag into his pocket. When the bag was nearly empty, he dug down to get the last nut, then stopped short when it slipped through his fingers and fell to the ground. He tried to grab it, but it rolled away before he could and was instantly crushed under someone's foot. Grumbling under his breath, Edward straightened up with another pang in his left leg as someone jostled him roughly.

Just then, his eyes lighted on one of the jewelry stalls, and he remembered that he should probably get something for Winry to appease her wrath. He stepped forward, assuming Alphonse would follow, and began inspecting the wares. The man behind the stall sported quite a few of his own products: necklaces clinked around his neck, bracelets jangled around his wrists, and he even wore a large, bejeweled hoop in one ear. Seeing he had a customer, he leaned obligingly forward and began describing the merits of each item Edward glanced at.

Edward spent almost an hour at that stall. After he decided on earrings, he had to find a pair that were feminine enough, but not _too_ feminine, sort of fancy, but not too over the top, ones that were pretty, but wouldn't get in the way of work. After the man had held up pair after pair and brought forth a few styles he kept out of sight for 'special customers' (which probably meant ones who could be tricked into paying far too much), Edward finally decided on golden hoops with a tiny blue stone in each. Then came the best part: bargaining. Edward loved the subtle art of bargaining, and the Aerugans were especially good at it. The two of them danced back and forth for a long time, until finally Edward bought the earrings at half their original price after pretending to lose interest and walk away.

When he finally had the earrings in his possession, Edward turned to grin at Alphonse and continue their ramble through the market, but he froze as soon as he turned away from the jewelry stall. Alphonse was nowhere in sight. "Al?" Edward called, though he knew it would do little good over the hubbub of the crowd. He turned slowly around, paying no attention to the people who jostled him, and looked for a suit of armor standing head-and-shoulders higher than everyone else. But he couldn't see one anywhere.

Pushing hurriedly through the crowd, Edward rushed to the next street and looked in both directions, but again he saw no sign of a suit of armor looking for him. After nearly getting knocked to the ground by a man with a large sack of rice over his shoulder, Edward decided to keep moving with the crowd, keeping his eyes peeled for his brother. As he did, he felt a cold stab of fear. He'd been standing at that stall for so long. Alphonse could be at the other end of the market by now.

Edward kept walking, even though he was soon hopelessly lost in this strange marketplace. He was afraid to stop, even if the press of people had let him. He was afraid that if he stopped even for a minute, panic would overtake him. The brothers hardly ever left each other's side, and whenever he _did_ get lost in a strange town, Alphonse was always there to chide him for not paying enough attention, or to persuade him to stop and ask directions. If this had been in Central, Edward would have been able to find his way back to the hotel, and would wait there until Alphonse came back. But this wasn't Central, and Edward couldn't remember which way they'd come when they entered the market.

The hours passed, and as the sun began to set, the crowds began to thin. Edward had thought he would be relieved when this happened, because it would be easier to walk and to see Alphonse if he came by. But as the streets began to empty and the shopkeepers began to close up their stalls, Edward grew more and more desperate. He wandered through the maze of streets and alleyways as they grew quieter and quieter, and still he didn't see Alphonse anywhere. His limp had become even more pronounced and painful than before, and his right arm swung awkwardly at his side, but he kept on walking. He didn't know what else to do.

Finally, when the shadows had grown long and dreary, and the wind blew bits of rubbish around, Edward paused in the middle of a deserted street and listened. There was no sound, no indication that just a short while ago, these streets had been teeming with life. It was like when he had come back from that Truth place: His leg ached, everything was silent, and he was _alone._ Edward felt an involuntary shudder pass through him as he looked around, half expecting to see Alphonse's empty clothes lying around somewhere. Then he hurried onward again.

He could have cried with relief when, three streets down, he suddenly heard the voice he'd been thinking about all afternoon. "...about so high, with blonde hair in a braid. He's probably wearing a red coat..."

Hurrying forward, Edward turned a corner and saw him. "Al!" He raced forward in a strange, limping run, his right arm swinging ridiculously from side to side, towards the suit of armor standing next to a policeman who put away his notebook, seeing that it was now unnecessary.

"Brother!" Alphonse caught Edward by the shoulders when he came close enough, and looked down with a stern tone in his voice. "Where have you _been?_ I've been looking all over for you!"

Edward was so relieved and exhausted that he only laughed.

"Are you okay?" Alphonse looked him up and down. "You didn't get into any trouble, did you?"

Edward grinned. He never appreciated how wonderful it was to be able to hear that echoey voice or look into those glowing eyes. "The only trouble is I'm starving! Let's go get something to eat!"

"Okay." After thanking the policeman for his trouble, Alphonse followed his brother. Edward limped along happily, glad that they would be on a train for home in the morning. Suddenly, a large gauntlet closed around his left hand. Edward glanced up, and of course he couldn't see Alphonse's expression, but he tightened his hand around the gauntlet all the same. How good it was that neither of them were alone.


	84. If You Would Only Turn Around

**Author's Note: This theme instantly reminded me of "Side of Face", so as my thoughts followed in that vein, I wanted to write something similar to that chapter. It sounded a lot more angsty and shouty in my head, but I suppose it's for the better that it came out like this.**

**Timeline: Pre-automail installation**

**Theme 84: If you would only turn around...**

They were alone again. Just the two of them – Edward lying on his side in the bed, Alphonse sitting crosslegged against the opposite wall. They'd been like this for half an hour at least, while Winry and Granny Pinako saw to an automail fitting downstairs. Edward had convinced them to give him automail too, but they insisted on waiting a few more days before they began the operation, because he needed to replenish some of the blood he'd lost. But even though the minutes dragged on and on, Edward made no move to start up a conversation. He lay on his left side, with his back turned to Alphonse, but his breathing made it obvious that he wasn't asleep.

Edward had been like this for the past forty-eight hours. When he wasn't asleep or in a fevered frenzy, he just lay silent like this, refusing to speak or even look at Alphonse. At first Alphonse had thought he was just tired, but now he knew – Edward didn't _want_ to look at him. Alphonse straightened a little, cringing inwardly to hear the loud clatter of his huge metal body. He could never get used to how _loud_ he was now. But even though the silence had been broken, Edward made no motion at all.

"Brother?" Alphonse said softly, tentatively.

No response.

Carefully, Alphonse clambered to his feet and clanked over to the bedside, looking timidly down at his brother from a much higher vantage point than he was used to. Edward's eyes were closed, as if he could fool his little brother into thinking he was asleep. With another infernal clatter, Alphonse sat down by the side of the bed, staring at Edward's small back, at his right shoulder ending so abruptly it was like he had never had an arm at all. "Brother," he said again.

Yet Edward still pretended not to hear.

"Brother, please!" Alphonse startled even himself at the anguish in his voice. "Please, just look at me! _Look_ at me!"

Edward's back stiffened at the tone of his voice, but he made no other sign he was listening at all.

Alphonse hung his head, hating the sight of that shoulder poking up into the air like an accusation: _Look what I had to trade for you._ "I'm tired of feeling invisible," he murmured. "Winry and Granny never look at me if they can help it, and when they do they look scared. Like I'm a monster. But if you would only turn around...if you would just look at me...then I'd be...okay." How he wished he could cry! But no tears came, of course. Only this ache he was growing accustomed to, pain unable to be relieved.

He looked up at Edward's back, and it felt like dying. It felt like a thousand knives piercing his heart, like his body disintegrating atom by atom. Because if Edward refused to look at him too...then that meant he really was an abomination.

"I can't." The words were so soft that Alphonse, in his anguish, almost missed them. "When I look at you...I can only see my mistakes, and-"

"Shut up." Now Alphonse's fists were shaking on his knees, rattling his empty body. "This isn't about _you!_ This isn't about any of your stupid mistakes or your guilt, you selfish, self-righteous little..." He pounded his knuckles against his helmet. Why oh why wouldn't the tears come? He dropped his head onto the bed – or tried to; the spike on the front of his helmet poked into the mattress and he had to straighten back up before he made a mess.

A tense silence stretched between them, and Alphonse felt more wretched than ever. He desperately tried to cry, but the most he could do was just make pitiful little sobbing sounds that were nowhere near as cathartic as the tears that frothed within his soul. Look at him, the ungrateful, helpless oaf who forced his brother to rip off his own arm to save him, and didn't even have the decency to back off and be grateful. "Sorry," he sobbed without tears. "Sorry...sorry...sorry..." He rocked back and forth like a clanking metal rocking horse, clutching his helmet and wishing his head would pound between his fingers.

When at last he stopped making the crying sounds because it did no good, he fell still and groaned softly, "Why did you save me?"

Slowly, Edward rolled over onto his back. Alphonse stared at him. Then Edward's neck turned slowly, his eyes still closed, and after taking a deep breath he opened them. The minute his eyes focused on Alphonse, his eyebrows drew sharply together and his lips contorted in a grimace of pain. Then he shut his eyes, and some of the tears Alphonse had been longing to shed slid down Edward's cheeks. But when Edward opened his eyes again, his face smoothed out and he looked directly into the eyeholes of Alphonse's helmet.

"I didn't," he whispered. "I didn't save you."

"Yes you did. I would've died otherwise."

"You wouldn't have been in danger if it hadn't been for me."

"And you wouldn't have lost your arm if it hadn't been for _me._"

Edward heaved a sigh, but didn't look away from his brother. "You're right about me. I'm selfish. All the pain you're feeling right now is because I wanted you back at all costs. I just wish I was the only one who had to pay." He touched his bandaged shoulder with his left hand meaningfully. "And maybe...maybe if I'd just given up a little more..."

Alphonse gingerly laid his heavy gauntlet over his brother's tiny hand. "It's enough. Not ideal...but enough." Because Edward was _looking _at him, gazing back into his empty eyes and seeing who he really was behind this awful body. Just as he always had, and he always would.


	85. Surprise Attack

**Author's Note: I remembered that I originally intended to get this story finished by October 3, 2010. But then I realized I'd have to really speed up if I wanted to make that deadline! ._. So I will now be uploading a chapter every day except for Sundays. Cheers!**

**I knew as soon as I half-recovered from the awesomeness of Chapter 107 that I would have to write about it somewhere in here. So much of the manga had been focusing on the battle, and while Arakawa-san's battles are some of the coolest and most exciting I've ever seen, I always like the brotherly moments best of all. This was the first real brotherly instance for a while, and **_**boy**_** is it ever powerful! My heart was pounding as much as Ed's must have been. So here I offer my interpretation of that scene, and what it must have been like for Ed to go through it.**

**Timeline: Chapter 107/Episode 62 (MAAAAAJOR SPOILERS! D:)**

**Theme 85: Surprise attack**

Edward panted as he raced away from the battle that raged around Father, feeling the heat of Mustang's flames on his back as he ran. Nothing was working. They threw everything they had at that freak with his face, but Father just stood there as calm as you please, and the only indication he was struggling at all were the veins sticking out in his face, neck, and arms.

Suddenly, Greed was running alongside him. "A surprise attack," he said shortly as they skidded to a halt behind a bit of rubble and peeked out at Father, who stood in the same position, unperturbed as ever. "I'll attack Father head-on, then you come from behind."

Edward hesitated only a moment before nodding and hurrying away in the opposite direction from the Homunculus. Who would have thought, when he first faced off against Greed in the underworld of Dublith, that one day they would become allies? It was a mark of how far they had come that Greed had even brought it up in the first place. Edward rushed forward as swiftly and silently as he could while Greed punched Father in the face and let his fist become absorbed in his skin.

But just as Edward took one last flying leap towards Father and thrust his right arm forward, he felt his momentum cease as Father activated his protective bubble again. _Come on, arm, hold together!_ he silently begged as he pressed forward, his automail shuddering and beginning to break apart. Always before, Winry's automail had held out, no matter what it went up against. But even the best automail in the world couldn't hold up against Father's motionless attacks, and Edward felt his gut clench as his arm shattered into a hundred pieces.

But he couldn't stop now! Not when they were so close to defeating Father at last! He whipped his left leg up to kick Father in the jaw, and Father blocked it – with his hand. Even as Edward fell to the ground, thrust back by Father's powerful arm, a slight measure of hope trickled into his heart. They were close! If he could only-

Suddenly a blast of immense alchemic power threw Edward back against a large slab of rock. He felt a piercing pain on impact, and quickly glanced down at his left arm to see that one of the steel rods poking out of the concrete had stabbed right through his upper arm, pinning him to the stone. Father was stumbling towards him, mumbling about life energy, and Edward struggled against the rod. But every time he moved his arm or flexed the muscle at all, pain rushed up through his shoulder. The grooves in the rod, which were supposed to help grip the concrete, now seemed to grip his flesh, preventing him from freeing himself at all. Blood gushed down into his armpit and sweat poured down his face from the pain. If only he could cut off the metal with alchemy! But how could he clap when he only had one hand?

Father was getting closer.

Suddenly five familiar daggers plunged into the stone next to his right shoulder, around the automail port where his arm would be stretched out if it wasn't lying in a thousand pieces amidst the rubble. Edward whipped his head around and saw Alphonse lying not too far off, lying on his back with his legs and most of his torso broken off. Mei crouched next to him, and five more daggers stuck upright in the ground around what was left of the suit of armor. The center of that circle would be Alphonse's blood seal.

"Al...what're you doing?" Edward stared, uncomprehending, as Alphonse raised his arms into the air. "No, stop..." he called in a weak voice.

Mei was crying.

"Al..."

From this vantage point, he could see the sun, emerging from the final shadow of the eclipse, right between Alphonse's palms.

"Al!"

Alphonse tilted his helmet back just slightly, so their eyes met. "Brother," he murmured – so softly, yet his voice carried across the battlefield as though he'd shouted. "Win."

Alphonse's hands clapped together, cutting out the sunlight, and understanding blazed into Edward's mind. "NOOOOOOOOOO!"

And those little knives were piercing his heart, pinning it down, preventing him from racing to his little brother's side as his whole being _screamed_ for him to do, and he couldn't stop him. And the pure light of the transmutation blazed into the air, almost too bright to bear, and the eyeholes in the helmet filled with an impenetrable darkness, like a night without stars, like a horrifying eclipse. And Edward was still screaming, though he knew it would do no good, because all light had been sucked out of his world with that one clap.

_Ping. Pop._ The curved bits of metal that had formed Edward's shoulder port burst off as something took the place of the metal, and suddenly...sensation. He could feel the rough stone, the faint breeze, the pulsing of his blood, in the space to his right that had been empty a moment before. Slowly, Edward turned his head to the right, hardly daring to breathe.

His heart staggered to a halt.

There, stretched out at a right angle to his torso, bursting from the scarred flesh of his shoulder where the automail had been installed all those years ago, was an arm. A bone-thin arm, pathetically pale and smooth, with long, ragged fingernails...but an arm made of flesh and blood.

_My leg, my arms, my heart...I'll give them to you, whatever you want..._ The last time he had seen that arm, he had drawn a transmutation circle on it in his own blood, screaming to the empty air for his brother's soul. And now, here it was again. His original body. His goal for the past five years.

The sight of it terrified him.

Edward looked back at the suit of armor, at the darkened eyeholes, at the gaping chasm that had been his brother's chest. "You stupid _idiot!_" he screamed at the unresponsive metal, and brought his hands together in an echoing clap. For the first time in his life, he could feel the alchemy charging up in both of his palms.

And Edward slammed his right palm onto the ground and jerked the metal rod out of his arm, making full use of this ultimate sacrifice. The best surprise attack. The one that had surprised even him.

Funny, he thought _he_ was the one who was supposed to show off.


	86. Syllogism

**Author's Note: This took quite a bit of hard thinking. I had a vague sort of idea about what I could do, but couldn't think of any actual scene where the Law of Syllogism could be demonstrated. I started thinking of the Truth and how you have to give up certain things to gain other things, and then in desperation I turned once again to Chapter 107. There I found the perfect scenario – or, almost perfect. I **_**think**_** this works as the Law of Syllogism, but if not, then at least it's very closely related. Also, I only realized halfway through writing this that my Nina-Trisha canon is animeverse -_- But I bet Ed would still have the same kids in either rendition of the story, so it still works.**

**Timeline: Postseries (mangaverse; spoilers for Chapter 107)**

**Theme 86: Syllogism**

"Okay, girls, ready for your lesson?"

"Yeah!"

"Yay, a lesson!"

"So tell me what you've learned. Trisha, what's the Principle of Equivalent Trade?"

"'Humankind cannot gain anything without first giving something in return. To obtain, something of...something of..."

"Equal..."

"Something of equal value must be lost!"

"Very good!"

"Daddy, there was something I couldn't figure out."

"What is it, Nina?"

"I didn't get what the Law of Salojalism was about."

"The Law of Syllogism? Okay, let's go over that again. It's pretty simple once you get the hang of it. 'The major premise contains the major term that is the predicate of the conclusion, and the minor premise contains the minor term that is the subject of the conclusion; common to both premises is a middle term that is excluded from the conclusion.'"

"..."

"..."

"Hmm, maybe an example is in order. Let's see... Ah, I know! You remember the Promised Day story?"

"Oooh, the Promised Day! The one where you kicked the bearded freak's butt!"

"Uh...yeah. Um, don't let your mother hear you say that, okay?"

"But what _about_ the Promised Day, Daddy?"

"Right. Well, remember how I was pinned up against that rock? I couldn't get away, and my arm was completely broken off, so I couldn't use any alchemy. The Father guy was coming towards me, closer and closer – then Mei Chan helped Uncle Al transmute his soul in exchange for my arm. Equivalent Trade, Trisha. With both my arms again, I could...um, _defeat_ Father.

"The Law of Syllogism was what went through Uncle Al's mind when he brought my arm back. He could see that – here, gimme that paper. He could see that if I had my right arm – we'll call that 'A' – I could defeat Father – let's call that 'B'. But he knew that to get my arm back, he had to trade in something equal, his soul – that's 'C'. So by giving his soul, he could make sure that Father would be defeated.

"So if A = B and A = C, then B = C too. You see now?"

"_Oh,_ I get it now! Thanks, Daddy!"

"Heh. Thank your Uncle Al."


	87. Memories

**Author's Note: I've long wanted to make an AMV of Within Temptation's song "Memories." It would be a sort of retrospective video of Ed looking back over all their adventures at the end of the story. Somehow, that idea kind of morphed into this one, becoming an AU of my usual anime AU :P I drew inspiration from the end of the anime itself as well as Dailenna's chapter for this theme in her own Royai 100 themes :D Unfortunately, this thing looked better in my head than it does on paper.**

**Timeline: Postseries (AU animeverse)**

**Theme 87: Memories**

Edward sat rigidly in the chair next to the hospital bed, gripping his hands together to keep them from trembling. He was exhausted, his hands shook from blood loss, and it seemed as though every muscle in his body had been stretched to its limit, but he stubbornly refused everyone who told him to lie down. The doctor had finally relented and allowed him to sit in his brother's room while the nurses fixed him up with IVs and blood transfusions, so now he sat staring at Alphonse lying still and silent, watching to make sure that his thin chest still rose and fell beneath the sheet.

As intent as he was on Alphonse's face, it took Edward a moment to realize that he had finally woken up. But as soon as he did, he lurched forward, heedless of all the tubes and needles, leaning over his little brother with a grin splitting his face. "Al!" he cried joyfully. "You're okay!"

Alphonse blinked groggily up at him and groaned hoarsely, "Brother...? Wha...Where am I...?"

Easing back into his chair, Edward couldn't stop smiling, even though Alphonse was pathetically thin and he himself felt ready to collapse at any moment. "Don't worry; I carried you to a hospital. You're not as heavy as I thought you'd be, you know. You kinda scared me back there; I thought you'd never...well, yeah." He didn't want to think about the horrible what-ifs when the reality was so much better to contemplate.

"Hospital?" Alphonse slowly murmured, scrunching up his face as he hadn't been able to for five years. "Why'd I need to go to the hospital? What happened?"

Edward leaned forward and said gently, "You probably don't remember the last bits so well. But don't worry; I sealed Envy and Gluttony, and got rid of Dante. We don't have to worry about the Homunculi anymore. And then I used the Stone, Al – to get your body back!"

He grinned triumphantly down at Alphonse, who just looked back at him uncomprehendingly. "Envy? Dante? But...I thought homunculi were just a legend. And...do you mean the _Philosopher's Stone?_"

Now it was Edward's turn to stare in confusion. "Huh? You know about that." But slowly a suspicion grew in his mind. "Don't...you remember?"

Alphonse frowned in concentration. "Well, the last thing I remember is the transmutation...but I think something went wrong. Everything went all dark, and then I was...kind of sucked away. What happened? Is Mom all right?"

Edward stared in horror at his little brother. _You're joking. Please tell me it's a joke._ Five years, completely lost.

"Brother, what's wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?"

* * *

Alphonse lay flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He liked lying still, because every time he moved he became aware of his body that was far too big, far too mature. Whenever he walked across the room, he felt as though he was walking on stilts and would topple over at any moment.

Sighing, he closed his eyes. Everything was so strange now. So different from what he was used to. Edward had explained to him in detail everything that had happened over the past five years – all of their adventures, all the decisions they'd made and people they'd met, all their victories and failures – but it wasn't the same as actually being able to _remember_ it all. Even Edward had changed. It wasn't just that he was taller now, or that he could perform complex transmutations with a simple clap. The way he acted was different too.

When Alphonse became grumpy and started complaining, Edward didn't retort sharply or huff off like he usually did. Instead he either gave him a commiserating smile and a few gentle words of encouragement, or his shoulders hunched and he only mumbled, "Sorry." His voice was so much lower than Alphonse remembered it, and he spoke with a confidence that suggested he knew exactly what he was talking about. Alphonse felt like he didn't know his brother anymore.

But then, in the middle of a deep-voiced monologue about how the world was filled with selfish people who only sought their own contentment and how that was affecting the political and social atmosphere of the entire country...Edward would reach over and rub his hair, just like he used to. And Alphonse realized that it was indeed his older brother; he had just grown older while Alphonse stood still. He wished he hadn't missed such a large chunk of Edward's life. They were brothers; they were supposed to experience everything together.

Alphonse opened his eyes when he heard the low voice he was slowly learning to associate with his new, world-hardened brother. Another voice accompanied it, even deeper.

"...be glad to see him all the same," it was saying.

Then the door to the hospital room swung open, and Edward stepped into the room, closely followed by a dark-haired man in a military uniform. "Hey, Al," Edward said, stepping to the side. "This is Colonel Mustang – well, Brigadier General now, I guess."

"Hello," Alphonse said awkwardly, well aware of how strange this must be for Mustang, to be introduced to someone he'd already known for five years.

Mustang blinked and said nothing for a moment, then suddenly seemed to remember himself and held out a hand. "Glad to see you back in one piece, Alphonse."

Alphonse grasped his hand, looking into the man's dark eyes, but as soon as their palms touched, he felt as though an electric current had run through them. The warmth of the other man's hand seemed to make images flash before his eyes. His lips began forming words before he could even wonder what had happened. "You told me not to take the State Alchemist exam!"

Mustang froze, their hands still clasped, staring back at him in confusion. "Yes...I did," he said carefully, as though not sure what Alphonse meant by it.

"I didn't tell you that," Edward said slowly, also staring at him.

Alphonse let his fingers slip from Mustang's. "I remembered..."

Excitedly grasping him by the shoulder, Edward asked, "What else do you remember?"

Alphonse racked his brains. "Um...we were standing in an alleyway...I was angry because I didn't want you to have to do it alone... I can't remember anything else."

Edward sank disappointedly into a nearby chair. "Well, at least that's a start," he murmured.

"You mean your memories can be regained?" Mustang asked in amazement. "But I thought that was your Equivalent Trade."

"No, the Equivalent Trade was the Stone," Edward immediately replied. "Al must just have amnesia from the shock of the transmutation..." He rested his chin on his clasped hands, looking thoughtfully at the floor.

"So maybe there's a way to get my memories back," Alphonse finished softly. The sun seemed to break over the horizon.

* * *

And so the brothers began their second journey. They returned to Risenpool, where it had all begun, and retraced every step they had taken in their pursuit of the Philosopher's Stone. At every location, it seemed, a small part of Alphonse's memory returned to him. Sometimes he remembered whole weeks at a time, sometimes only fleeting moments, sometimes only a vague sense of _deja vu._

Some of the memories were horrible, and Alphonse wished he could have forgotten them for good. When Edward used his rank to get them an hour alone in the old Tucker mansion (which had been turned into a small branch of the military library), Alphonse tried to prepare himself for any memories that might surface there. He had heard the story several times already, and he knew it had affected them both deeply. But no matter how much he steeled himself ahead of time, nothing could prepare him for the onslaught of emotion he faced there.

It started out all right, with a few memories returning to him as they passed through the garden and strolled through the rooms. He remembered many happy times, and as they stood in front of the large fireplace in what was now a reading room, Alphonse smiled as a sudden image returned to him of a sweet girl sleeping with her great white dog. But when Edward grew increasingly subdued, Alphonse knew they must be drawing closer to the basement. They descended the stairs and moved to a corner of the storage room. It looked just like all the other corners of the room, but Edward covered his eyes with his hand as if he could still see everything that had happened there.

At first Alphonse didn't remember anything. He stepped around his brother and continued farther into that section of the room. And slowly, it all started coming back to him. _"He used his own daughter!"_ Trembling, Alphonse dropped to his knees on the floor. _"Big brother...why does it hurt here? You said you'd come play with me..."_ He could hear her voice in his head, murmuring over and over in that painful groan from a throat that was half human and half dog. And all he could see was a splatter of blood on an alley wall, all that remained of the sweet girl he had come to love.

"Nina..."

He realized he was crying, sobbing with all his might. Edward's arms wrapped around him, and Alphonse clung to the only source of warmth in this cold world. He understood now why Edward had sought after Barry the Chopper so viciously, even if it turned out to be a mistake. And Edward had been so battered after that encounter, his left arm lacerated and his right one loose and obviously painful.

"I don't want to remember," he sobbed, clutching Edward tighter. "I don't, I _don't!_" Because Edward was crying, and that reminded him of Nina too.

But then there were the good memories, and they almost made up for the bad ones. They headed down to Dublith, and Alphonse remembered all the good times they had experienced down there. They met all the friends they could find that they had met on their trip, and reminisced happily together. And slowly, Alphonse pieced together his memories of the stories his brother had told him. Slowly, he remembered for himself all the struggles they had gone through, all the things they had given up, and all they had gained.

At long last they made their way down below Central to the underground city where they had finally achieved their goal. The long descent to the floor of the cavern brought no results; Alphonse had never gotten a good view of the city before. But as soon as Edward pushed open the heavy doors to the grand ballroom that still bore the enormous transmutation circles, he felt a thrill run through him.

Slowly, the brothers advanced into the room, their footsteps making loud echoes across the highly-polished floor. Alphonse's strides became more and more unsteady as they came closer to the circles and the great bloodstains that still stretched across the floor. Finally he came to a halt, clutching his head in his hands. Images rushed through him, overlapping and drowning each other out like a rush of white noise. He saw death, fighting, and intense fear. He saw Edward fighting for both their lives. He saw what could only be called a monster steadily gnawing away at his body. Someone was screaming, far away, as though they were being eaten alive themselves. He wanted them to stop, because terror was rushing through him as well, and it was hard enough without the screaming.

The world went dark.

* * *

Once again, Edward sat anxiously by the side of his brother's bed in a hospital. He'd known the memories of Alphonse's last night in armor were traumatic, but when he'd suddenly started screaming, Edward began to worry something was _really_ wrong. Maybe it was a mistake to go searching out all these memories. Maybe they were wrong, and he would be worse off once he regained them all. Maybe it was best to just forget about all of this. But if he was truly honest with himself, he'd wanted to do this because he just couldn't imagine living with Alphonse if they couldn't share everything as they'd always done.

But that was such a selfish desire, he realized. Alphonse had been gibbering deliriously for several days now, and all because he'd insisted on making his memory intact again. He should have been happy just to have his little brother in his real body again, and learned to live with his new brother. It would have been the kinder thing to do.

"Brother...where am I?"

Looking up with immense relief, Edward leaned forward and said, "Back in the hospital. How do you feel?"

"Um...I feel fine," Alphonse said slowly, frowning as though trying to figure out why he'd been put in a hospital.

Fear swelled inside Edward's chest until he could hardly stand it anymore. "Do you...remember what happened?"

"Well, the last thing I remember is going into that underground city. Then someone started screaming. I...I think it was me." He sounded confused. "At least, it must have been, because I remembered how Gluttony started eating my armor..."

Edward let out an enormous sigh of relief. Everything had worked out after all. "I'm sorry you had to-"

"Don't you dare," Alphonse interrupted, holding up an admonishing finger but grinning all the same. "Now I can remember how you always try to take the blame for everything. Well, I'm not going to let you do it anymore, 'kay? I _wanted_ to get these memories back."

Edward looked back sadly. "Even the bad ones?"

Alphonse's eyes turned as sad and old as his brother's. "Of course. Because even in the bad times, we were together."


	88. Given Name

**Author's Note: I've always known what to do with this theme, because I'm the sort of person who asks for baby name books for Christmas and devours them for every last interesting name that might come in handy someday. A long time ago, I looked up all the FMA names that actually exist, and was struck by just how fitting some of them are. Arakawa-san herself said she used a Western names dictionary to come up with the characters' names, so I'm certain that the meanings must have played a part in at least some of her decisions. Edward and Alphonse just fit too well.**

**Timeline: Preseries**

**Theme 88: Given name**

He'd found it while scouring the house for any books or notes that might help them in their quest. He'd glanced at it, shrugged, and laid it aside. Alphonse knew it wouldn't help, but its well-thumbed pages indicated that his mother had looked through it many times, and he felt closer to her just by looking at the dog-eared cover. He told himself he'd look at it later, then stacked more promising books from his father's study on top of it and forgot about it.

Finally, one day while Edward was working out another circle based on their father's notes, Alphonse picked up the book again. He was sitting in their room, next to the bookcase where they kept the notes and texts that didn't seem to pertain directly to human transmutation, but still had to do with alchemy. Edward remained in their father's study, and Alphonse hadn't heard a peep from him in two hours, which he hoped was a good sign.

Picking up the little book as a welcome distraction from his seemingly endless and pointless research, Alphonse smiled a little as he read the simple cover: _Baby Names._

He'd always wondered where their names had come from, and why their parents had chosen the ones they had. Alphonse riffled backwards through the pages now, noticing that stars had been drawn next to several. Maybe those were the names their mother had been particularly fond of! Some starred names were ones Alphonse liked, such as Xavier and Nathaniel and Marcus. He could almost imagine having one of those names. Sylvia and Naomi and Jeanine made him giggle, and Francis and Devon made him wrinkle up his nose uncertainly, but when he came to Edward he stopped.

_Edward, Eduardo, Eadward – rich protector._

A small smile tugged at the corners of Alphonse's mouth as he gazed at the name with a loopy star next to it. That described his brother perfectly. He sported golden hair and rare golden eyes, as though his very being was a precious, pure metal. Gold was the purest substance, alchemically speaking. It symbolized immortality and success. The color of Edward's eyes seemed to reflect that, with his sharp understanding of alchemy and the pure eagerness that drove him onward. Edward was someone that Alphonse had always looked up to, despite any flaws in his personality or actions. Because to Alphonse, Edward was as refined and precious as gold no matter what.

Edward also fit the role of a protector well. There had been times when boys at school (whom Edward dubbed The Idiots Who Will Never Go To College) had teased them, and Edward had always stood up for his little brother. The time they had passed a vicious dog in the village, Edward had pushed Alphonse roughly out of the way and got a nasty bite on his own leg instead. Edward always took care of him, always helped him, always made sure he was okay. Most older brothers wouldn't bother, but Edward took his job seriously. Maybe that was why their mother had chosen that name for him. Maybe she'd hoped he would turn out this way.

Alphonse was on the verge of turning back more pages to look up his own name when he heard feet running towards him. He looked up when the door burst open and Edward rushed in, beaming and clutching a roll of paper. "Al, I've got it, I've got it!"

"What is it, Brother?" Alphonse set the book down and got up to follow his rich protector.

* * *

He'd found it while going through everything one last time before they burned down their house. He didn't want to take too much, because there was only so much they could carry with them, but he had to make sure there was nothing he'd regret burning to ashes when they left. That would defeat the whole purpose, because then they'd be looking back the whole time, instead of moving forward. And how would they get their bodies back then?

There had been a stack of books in his and Al's room, from the days of their research. Most were alchemic texts, as was to be expected, but there at the bottom of the pile, as though momentarily forgotten, was a little worn book called _Baby Names._ What the heck was Alphonse doing reading something like that? Edward picked it up and opened the worn cover. Immediately he understood. There, in the top corner on the title page, was the name _Trisha Elric._

With a sad sort of smile, Edward began flipping through the pages. Some names, he saw, had stars drawn next to them, as though those were the names she'd liked the most. He noticed that there were two different kinds of star – the sharp, precise one he recognized as his mother's from when she'd taught them how to draw one without lifting the pencil; and also a large, loopy one that he didn't recognize. Edward froze on the verge of turning a page and stared at a loopy star next to the name Toby. That star must have been drawn by his father.

Edward's stomach twisted at the thought. How had he _dared_ to choose their names, when he made it perfectly clear that he didn't care at all? Scowling, Edward turned the pages roughly. Rachel from his mother. Quentin from his father. Lucian from his mother. Isabel from his father. How could he have sat there, drawing his stupid loopy stars, discussing something like this with his mother, and then abandon her just a few years later? Finally he came to Edward, and hot rage coursed through him when he saw his father's hateful star next to his very own name. In disgust, he turned the pages back farther.

_Alphonse, Alfonzo, Alphonsus – strong and ready for battle._

Thankfully, their mother had drawn the star next to this one. Edward looked at the name and smiled fondly, slowly letting his anger slip away. Alphonse wasn't a name you heard very often, so for Edward it had become synonymous with 'little brother.' He was pleased to see how well Alphonse's name fit him. Their mother couldn't have known how well it would, but he was glad all the same that the one who had loved them from before they were born had selected this name.

Alphonse was strong. He'd had to put up with so much. Orphaned at the age of nine, nearly starved and beaten to death a month later, pressured by a stupid older brother into performing a taxing transmutation that had ripped his soul away from his body, and now forced into a wretched, half-human existence. And still, despite everything that had happened to him, he remained the same caring little boy he'd always been, who would rescue kittens from the rain and replace baby birds that had fallen from their nest, who would calmly restrain his brother's temper when necessary, who never gave up hope. Edward's heart clenched as he looked down at his automail hand. An arm was a small price to pay for bringing his brother back. He would gladly pay that price again and again, if it meant he could still be with his strong little brother.

Alphonse's name also sounded very knightly. Sir Alphonse. How fitting that now he was nothing but a suit of armor. Hohenheim hadn't had a sword to go along with the armor, but it didn't take too much to imagine him wielding one and fighting back the forces of evil like in their games when they were younger. Alphonse would defend them both, now. He couldn't be physically hurt anymore, so he would be able to protect them both. Edward just wished it hadn't come to that. Little brothers weren't supposed to protect their older brothers. Before, it had always been Edward who had done the protecting. But once Edward had let Alphonse be hurt, once he had overlooked the possibility that their transmutation could go wrong, Edward had surrendered his position as the protector. He'd proven he wasn't worthy of that title, and now Alphonse had stepped into the role.

Well. Alphonse was perfect for the role anyway. And even if Edward couldn't protect him anymore, he would help him as much as he could. Even if it hadn't been his fault the whole time, he still would. They were brothers, after all.


	89. Ultimate Weapon

**Author's Note: I was originally thinking of doing "Surprise Attack" for this one, but then I decided that fit better there, so I had to come up with something else for this one. I decided a demonstration of Edward's ultimate weapon was in order.**

**Timeline: None (spoilers for Chapter 107/Episode 62)**

**Theme 89: Ultimate Weapon**

"Al! Alphonse! Where are you? Answer me!" Edward choked on the breath rattling through his throat, and coughed out weakly, "Please..."

But of course there was no answer. Alphonse was gone. The empty clothes and shoes lying limply on the floor next to him made that clear. Edward clenched his fist around the shirt Alphonse had been wearing bare minutes ago, scrunching it up and pressing it against his forehead. He couldn't suppress the tears of fear, grief, and pain, and for a minute or two he allowed them to conquer him, rip through him like a thousand tiny bullets.

But even as he gasped and sobbed and felt his left thigh growing wetter and wetter, he realized that he couldn't go on like this. There was no _way_ he could survive alone in this world, without his little brother there to make everything all right. So he pushed himself up from the floor, crawling awkwardly across the room to where he knew there was a roll of bandages. With shaking, fumbling fingers, he bound up the stump of his leg as best as he could, if only so he wouldn't die before the transmutation was complete.

He hardly even had to think about what he needed to do. He could see it all clearly before him, all the information thrust into his head from that golden-white place inside the big doors. There was no way he could bring back all of Alphonse, not if he wanted to live, but he didn't know what else to do. He _had_ to get Alphonse back. Even if it was only part of him.

So Edward activated the circle of his own blood on the suit of armor, gritting his teeth against the pain as the little black tendrils tugged away at his right arm. It didn't matter, nothing mattered, only Alphonse. Only when Alphonse's soul had safely crossed the threshold of the Gate and Edward returned to reality, only then did Edward allow himself to feel the pain. Like a knife stabbing into the stump of his right arm, and he whispered, "I'm sorry."

* * *

Edward was confidently telling Roze how much better science was than this hokey Leto religion thing everyone seemed so excited about for some reason. He was just getting worked up, looking up at the statue of the sun god and steamrollering through every one of Roze's protests, when it happened.

_Clang! Crash! Clatter!_

Roze jumped and Edward spun around, unable to keep a small gasp down his throat as he saw Alphonse sprawling on the ground through a small doorway to the side. He'd been wandering through the side passages, seeing if he could find any clues. What had happened?

Then a burly priest stepped through the shadowy doorway, a pistol trained on Alphonse's metal back, and Edward understood.

"Brother Cray, what are you doing?" Roze cried, horrified.

Cray grimaced, turning his pistol on Edward instead and stepping closer. "These two are heretics. I am under orders to execute them."

A voice echoed from behind him. "I thought Leto upheld the virtue of peace."

Cray whirled around, gaping in astonishment at the empty, headless suit of armor standing before him and _talking_ to him. Edward grabbed his chance, seizing the helmet that had clattered across the floor towards him, and throwing it with all his might at the back of Cray's head. Sure enough, it hit with a dull _clunk_ and he toppled forward onto the ground, out cold.

"Hey, my head!" Alphonse cried in mild indignation, rushing forward to retrieve it. Roze was starting to hyperventilate next to him from the shock of it all.

But Edward just grinned and shared a thumbs-up with Alphonse. "Bulls-eye!"

* * *

"You fool. Now I know your weakness."

And before anyone could react, Scar thrust out his tattooed right arm, hitting Alphonse's chestplate with a slap of his palm. And Alphonse _exploded._

Edward was screaming before he knew what was going on, as all the little shards of metal flew outwards, seeming to pierce into his heart like a thousand tiny daggers. For a moment, he thought it was all over, but then he realized that Scar had only blown away about half of Alphonse's torso. Though Alphonse crumpled onto the ground, one of his legs crumbling to dust under him, he was still alive. The glow of his eyes said as much.

But Edward was still reeling from the pain, and he rushed towards Scar with a reckless rage he hadn't felt towards anyone for a long time. He swiped wildly, but Scar was faster. Gripping the metal arm in his thick, dark-skinned hand, Scar activated his alchemy again.

And though Edward felt the shock of all the connections in his arm going dead, and though his heart jolted with terror as he looked up at the serial killer who could now destroy him with one swipe of his hand, nothing hurt as much as when Alphonse had fallen to the ground. Alphonse's cries to get up and run, to leave him behind, were like daggers in his chest. So he hung his head and murmured, "You can kill me...just let my brother go."

* * *

"This northern-made automail is the best!" Edward laughed, dancing around the chimeras with ease. His limbs felt as light as feathers compared to the heavy-duty steel Winry always hung on him. Maybe now she'd make her automail like that and he could actually grow taller.

"Hey – hold still!" the fat frog chimera cried, swiping at him over and over and never managing to hit him. Edward landed a punch right on the frog's flabby face with his right arm, then danced away again before he could retaliate. Only then did he reconsider, remembering that the strength of the metal had been reduced for the sake of weight. He'd have to be more careful.

"Maybe _this_ will make you hold still!" the chimera cried, bringing Edward back to the present. He spat some gluey substance out at Edward, and it hit his arm.

"Is this _drool?_" Edward asked incredulously, looking at the goop slowly oozing down from his elbow. "Ew, gross!"

But it gave him a sudden idea, so while he dodged around further drool attacks, he circled around behind the frog chimera, clapped his hands, and deconstructed the disgusting saliva on the frog's bare back. Before the chimera could do more than cry out with surprise and discomfort as the cold air hit his wet skin, Edward cried out, "Wet Tongue on Freezing Flagpole...Attack!"

With one sharp kick from Edward's left leg, Alphonse sailed across the room and hit the frog chimera square in the chest, wet skin clinging to the freezing metal armor. Now when he tried to move or pull away, it tore his skin.

"Brother, what'd you do that for?" Alphonse fumed, ignoring the chimera's cries of anguish.

Edward laughed. "Score! Now for the other one!"

* * *

The blast knocked Edward off his feet, and he went flying through the air until his back slammed against a stone wall. The air rushed from his lungs, and as he gasped for breath, he became aware of a piercing pain in his left arm – his only remaining arm. Looking over, he saw it was impaled upon one of the steel bars holding the concrete together. Wonderful. Another scar to add to his ever-burgeoning list.

Then he realized it was even worse, and whipped his head around as he heard Father stumbling towards him, mumbling about Stones. He needed to get out of here. Fast. Gritting his teeth against the wave of pain, Edward tugged on his arm, trying to pull it off the piece of metal. But blood only spurted out faster than ever, and Edward choked down a cry of pain. He was stuck, there was no way out, he was going to die...

_Wham wham wham wham wham._

Edward looked around in shock, seeing five of Mei's daggers stuck in the stone around his right shoulder, where the automail port stuck pointlessly into the air. He turned in shock to where Mei crouched over a circle made with her other daggers. And lying in the center of the circle...

"Al, _no!_" Edward screamed, trying again to pull away from the stone, but he couldn't pull free.

"Brother," Alphonse murmured, clapping his hands, "win."

And Edward screamed, but it wasn't from the pain in his left arm, or the sudden tingling sensation in the right arm he hadn't had for four years, or the fear as Father stepped closer and closer, groping towards him. The alchemy that skittered across the blood seal, that fused his skin back together, that enabled him to break apart the steel and fight Father at last...it seemed to clench around his heart, choking it, stabbing it, ripping it into tiny pieces.

"Al, you _idiot!_" he cried as he leapt forward, and tears mingled with the blood on his face.

* * *

"I'm sorry I couldn't be here," Alphonse murmured.

They were sitting with their backs against one of the enormous slabs of concrete that had once made up part of the military headquarters. Alphonse was wrapped in a black coat donated by Mustang, and Edward was wrapped in bandages. He'd been able to get first-aid treatment, but they were waiting until an ambulance was free, because every available vehicle was already being used to cart the wounded to the hospitals, and Edward knew there were many people a lot worse off than they were. For now, Edward was content to simply remain as he was, watching soldiers and noncombatants trying to make sense of the situation, sitting by the side of his little brother.

"What?" he asked, watching Armstrong shifting rocks with alchemy despite his dislocated arm and bleeding head.

"Sorry I couldn't help you fight." Alphonse looked at him with eyes that weren't even red. Edward could hardly believe it.

"You kidding?" Edward slung a scrawny arm around Alphonse's bony, _warm_ shoulders. "You're my ultimate weapon."


	90. Hidden Expressions and Hidden Feelings

**Author's Note: The first thought that sprang into my mind when I saw this theme was what Winry says about how even though Ed can cry, he refuses to. So I thought I'd explore that a bit more. I don't think it turned out that great, but I got my ideas out at least.**

**Timeline: After automail installation**

**Theme 90: Hidden expressions/Hidden feelings**

It had been five weeks. Five weeks since their world had collapsed. Five weeks of tending to a feverish brother, of having to be normal, of pretending that he was okay. But nothing could ever be okay again. Because his brother was a cripple, and he...he was hardly alive.

Alphonse tiptoed out of the house, softly closed the front door, and plodded away over the rolling green hills. Fall had come, and dead leaves crunched under his heavy feet. But he couldn't smell their spicy odor, couldn't feel the brisk morning breeze. He was like a ghost floating through the countryside.

_That's what I am,_ he thought vaguely as he walked on. _I shouldn't even be alive._ He came to a stop in the middle of the half-harvested field he found himself in. _I should be dead. I should have died. That should have been it, because Mom..._

And then he screamed. He didn't have to draw a deep breath, just started making a screaming sound with all his might, and it echoed and reverberated in his empty armor. Something had been building up inside of him all this time. Something that he couldn't suppress, but something he tried to push away so the others wouldn't worry. So they'd think everything was _normal._ Because then they'd only worry about Brother, and he was the one who needed looking after anyway. And so the agony slowly ripped away at his insides, and he couldn't feel anything, but he could feel _that._ Like a knife constantly between his ribs.

Because their mother was _dead._ And they had _failed._ And Edward had bled so much, and it was all because of him, and he'd been taken away, and he would have died, and he _wanted_ to be dead because at least then he wouldn't feel this and not be able to do anything about it.

Alphonse stopped screaming when he realized he could go on forever. He couldn't breathe, so he would never run out of air. He couldn't even feel the scream ripping against his throat, because he didn't _have_ one. So he could keep screaming through the days and nights, because he would never run out of fuel. He stood there, looking up at the uncaring sky in the bland morning, and felt even emptier than before. What point was there in _anything_ anymore? Everywhere he turned, there would just be this emptiness, this distance from everything.

He wanted to cry. He wanted to cry so much. But the harder he tried to, the more he realized that it was impossible. These feelings built up inside of him, and he couldn't release them in any way. With a frustrated cry, Alphonse whirled around and began to run. But even running didn't help. His breath didn't draw short. His legs didn't grow tired. He could keep running, keep screaming, keep enduring this agony, for the rest of his life. And that could last a very, _very_ long time with a body like this. The days would grow to weeks, to months, to years, and he would be exactly the same. There would be no end to this endless pain, this never-ending inability to _do_ anything about it.

Alphonse skidded to his knees on top of a hill and began pounding the earth with his fists. There was nothing anyone could do. He would be stuck like this forever. Then, Alphonse fell utterly still, staring down at his hands clenched on the dirt beneath him. If these hidden feelings had grown too much...why didn't he just end it all? All it would take would be one blow to his blood seal, and he would be free. He wouldn't have to look around at this normal world and be confronted at every turn how _monstrous_ he was. Yes...he could...

What was he thinking? Alphonse looked up, and saw the yellow house rising on the next hill, glowing the morning sunlight. In that house, in the front bedroom, with the window that looked out across the river valley, lay the single most important person in the world. And he couldn't be thinking about killing himself when Edward needed him so much.

He was so _tired,_ but he slowly pushed himself to his feet and began plodding back home. The pain ripping through him receded to the dull ache it normally was, and Alphonse decided he could handle it for a while longer. He could push aside those feelings, pretend to be normal, because Edward needed him to be. Edward could express these things for both of them, because he _knew_ Edward felt just as bad as he did, if not worse.

"Morning, Al!" Winry called cheerfully as they passed in the hall. She was carrying a basin of water filled with bloody cloths, and the edges of her eyes were strained, but she was smiling. Smiling because she could, smiling for him, and for an instant it didn't matter that he couldn't smile back.

"Morning," he replied, and they both heard the smile in his voice.

Feeling much better, Alphonse ducked into the bedroom. Edward sprawled across the bed as usual, the covers thrown off impatiently in the night. He was propped up against the headboard and clumsily eating his breakfast with his left hand, the tray balanced on his mismatched knees. "How are you feeling, Brother?" Alphonse asked, sitting down in his usual place next to the bed. It almost felt normal. Almost.

Edward grimaced at him. "You mean besides my arm feeling like it's gnawing on my shoulder and me having to eat like this? Just wonderful."

"Oh." Alphonse looked away, listening to the clinking sounds as Edward chased his scrambled eggs around the plate, growling in frustration every once in a while.

"Brother," he spoke up softly, "you realize it's been five weeks?" The clinking fell silent at once. "You never say anything. Are...Are you okay?"

Finally, he dared to look up. Edward was staring at his plate with a closed expression. He glanced at his right hand resting on the sheet next to him. Then he looked up and said simply, "Yeah. Fine."

Their eyes bored into each other, and Alphonse wondered who he thought he was kidding. He heard what Edward said in his sleep. He knew how much pain he was in, every moment of every day, even with the pain medicine. Even if they hadn't fallen to pieces, even if they were still whole, they would still be in pain, because they had lost their mother _again._ And they knew this time that she was never coming back.

"I'm fine, Al," Edward repeated stiffly, then turned back to his eggs. And the hidden expression on his face echoed the never-ending scream. They would never talk about this. Never bring it up. Never fall on each other's shoulders and clutch each other and cry their hearts out. Because Alphonse couldn't...and Edward wouldn't.


	91. Kiss

**Author's Note: This was one of those themes I figured out what to do with a long time ago, because this is the one that had the potential to break the whole project. The Royai themes are generally not very romantic-sounding at all, but they still have this one. I've gone over this scene in my head again and again, because I know I have to handle it delicately or people will get the wrong impression. So let me just remind you all once again: THIS IS NOT ELRICEST. Get your mind out of the gutter and realize that there **_**are**_** times and situations in which a man will kiss another man without it being yaoi. I think of all the times when one man kisses another in Lord of the Rings; it's the same idea here. On a lighter note, the final lines are ones I've been **_**dying**_** to use for ages.**

**Timeline: Postseries (AU)**

**Theme 91: Kiss**

_For NewMoonFlicker - "Just breathe with me."_**  
**

Edward slowly picked himself off the ground, shaking his head to clear it. He hadn't expected the transmutation to be quite so powerful; it had knocked him clean off his feet once it was complete. Thick steam hung all around him, making it hard to breathe. He paused for a moment, trying to steady his racing heart and figure out what had happened. But then the steam began to clear ahead of him, and he saw a figure emerging, becoming less fuzzy with every second.

His heart leapt into his throat.

He crawled forward as fast as he could, his movements jerky because his whole body was trembling violently. His eyes were open as wide as they would go, as the steam whirled away from him, the clouds parting to reveal...

Edward let his breath out in a rush and knelt, trembling, next to the body of his little brother. It was so familiar, even though the last time he'd seen it had been five years ago. It was much bigger than he remembered, the hair was long and unkempt, and the bones stuck out grotesquely beneath the skin. But it was _him._ It was Alphonse. Running his eyes up and down the body again, Edward had to restrain himself from placing his hand on the prominent ribs and stick-like arms. Just to convince himself it was really happening.

Suddenly fear clutched his throat. Alphonse was lying with his eyes closed, not moving an inch. Was everything all right? He'd messed up so many times; what if he'd messed up now, too? The armor was gone; there was no more blood seal to check. If he'd failed...if Alphonse wasn't... Edward lowered his ear over Alphonse's face, hardly daring to breathe himself as he listened. Listened with all his might. He screwed up his eyes and strained his hearing, braced himself for the faintest breath against his cheek.

Nothing.

Frantically, Edward pressed two fingers against the side of Alphonse's neck, as he'd learned from Granny Pinako. His hands were trembling so hard it took him several moments before he could find the right place, and he forced his hand to become still. He waited one agonizing second, and then..._pulse._

Sucking in a relieved breath, Edward kept his fingers pressed against the pulse that seemed to be pumping life into his own body. He was alive, at least. His heart was pumping. But he wasn't breathing. That was a problem. Edward listened to Alphonse's chest, and bent over his face again, but he couldn't feel any breath. "C'mon, Al," he muttered, shaking the boy a little as his heart pounded.

But he knew what he had to do. He'd never done it before, never _had_ to do it before, because Alphonse had never needed to breathe. He'd hung out around doctors enough as a child to know the basic gist of what he needed to do, but that would mean... Edward suddenly realized what he was doing. This was his brother's _life_. There was no reason to hesitate.

That sealed it. Getting into position, Edward pinched Alphonse's nose shut, took a deep breath, and bent over his brother. He could feel the air moving into Alphonse's lungs, and he straightened again to suck more air into his own lungs. Then he glanced over, and as Alphonse breathed out, his eyes slowly opened. Instantly, Edward stopped what he was doing. "Al!"

"Brother?" His grey eyes were groggy and disoriented, but they were _his,_ and that was all that mattered.

Edward let out a shaky breath and sank back onto the floor, trembling harder than ever. "Thank goodness," he murmured, wiping sweat off his brow. "When you weren't breathing, I thought..."

"Couldn't 'member how," Alphonse said clumsily, small spots of color appearing in his cheeks. "Sorry."

"Don't be stupid." Edward gazed at the thin chest rising and falling. So all he'd had to do was remind Alphonse how to breathe? He smiled in relief at his little brother, taking one of his warm hands in his own. "It's been so long, it's no wonder you forgot."

Alphonse weakly squeezed his hand, and they stared at each other for several long moments. They'd done it. This was it. Their goal. Everything they'd been working towards for the last several years. Edward's heart was pounding again, but the fear was gone. Something was growing in his chest, swelling and stretching tighter and tighter till it was almost painful. And he could see the same thing in Alphonse's open, human face. It had been so long since he'd been able to read Alphonse's emotions just by looking at his face. He'd grown so used to interpreting body language and tone of voice that he couldn't tear his eyes away from the soft expression on his brother's face. He could sit there for an hour, just drinking in the sight of him.

Alphonse looked back at him with those wide, expressive eyes he knew so well, and then he spoke in a soft voice that didn't echo. "Kiss me?"

Edward's breath caught in his throat. Those words sent him reeling back to the horrible, dark days when everything was wrong. The night after their mother's funeral, they'd gone to bed in their empty, silent house. They lay there for a while, side-by-side in their mother's big bed, trying to go to sleep. Then, sniffling a little, Alphonse turned to Edward and quavered, "Kiss me?"

Their mother had always kissed them on the cheek or the top of the head when she tucked them in at night, and those soft kisses helped them go to sleep because they knew they were safe in their mother's love. But once she had died, they knew they would never feel her kisses again, and every night they would wait for her to step into the room and kiss them goodnight, but she never would. They only had each other.

So Edward had pulled Alphonse close and kissed him clumsily on the cheek. And it wasn't anything like their mother's kisses, but it was enough. Because they were still safe.

And now Edward stared down into Alphonse's liquid grey eyes, and he realized how vulnerable Alphonse was making himself. If Edward had been anyone else, he could have brushed him off, said that was gross, or looked awkward and uncomfortable and made Alphonse feel bad for asking. But Edward _understood._ He knew how long it had been since Alphonse had felt anything at all, and he knew how much he'd wanted to feel some loving touch in those cold years. He knew that lips were more sensitive than just about any other part of the body, and he knew that their touch against skin said _I love you _better than anything else_._

So Edward lifted Alphonse by his skinny shoulders, pulled him close, and kissed him gently on the cheek. He could feel Alphonse's jaw beneath the thin layers of skin and muscle, and it struck him that this was _real._ In his arms lay the most important person in the world, the one who meant everything to him, the other half of his heart. And he knew he would go through all of this again – all the pain, fear, exhaustion, and weariness – experience it all a hundred times over if he had to, because this was _Alphonse._

Edward held Alphonse even closer and kissed him on top of his head, burying his nose in his hair that smelled just the way he remembered it. When he sniffed, his breath shuddered in his chest, and the golden hair beneath his chin grew damp. "I love you, Al," he choked out. "I love you _so much._"

Alphonse's lips curled upward against his neck. "Duh."


	92. Happiness?

**Author's Note: I'm not too happy with this one, but I honestly couldn't think of anything else for the theme -_- I needed there to be some kind of question about happiness, so I decided to pose that question after most people would think there wasn't any...if that makes any sense.  
**

**Timeline: Postseries**

**Theme 92: Happiness?**

Alphonse always used to think that nights were long and days as fleeting as moments. Now that he could sleep, his unnatural viewpoint had been reversed and the days seemed long and luxurious again. It was amazing how slowly time passed when you weren't always on the move, hunting down Homunculi and forbidden alchemic secrets. Now they could spend time with Winry, and make up for all their lost time.

Time like this. Alphonse sat in the tall grass Winry was always bugging Edward to mow, slowly stroking the soft fur of his cat Wobbles, who was purring loudly. Alphonse trailed his fingers along her body from her nose to her tail, which curved pleasurably under his hand. Edward lay at his side, flat on his back with his hands under his head, eyes closed as he basked in the sunlight. His whole body seemed to glow, his golden hair glistening in the bars of sunlight, his light skin and white shirt blindingly reflecting the light, his metal limbs flashing whenever they moved.

One of Edward's eyes cracked open, and he saw Alphonse looking at him. He opened both of his eyes then and gazed up at the cloudless blue sky overhead. Letting out a long, slow breath, he murmured, "Is this happiness?"

Alphonse was startled by the almost melancholy tone of his brother's voice, and stopped petting Wobbles, leaving his hand resting on her warm back. She had already fallen asleep, and didn't notice. "What do you mean?" he asked carefully.

Edward sighed. "All those years, we were trying to find a way to get our bodies back, saying that once we did, everything would be perfect and we could be happy again. But now that we're here...is this it?"

Alphonse felt his heart sinking like a cold lump inside of him. "You mean you're not happy?" he asked softly.

Edward frowned and awkwardly turned his head to watch Winry hanging up laundry back up at the house. "No...I'm happy. We don't have any enemies to fight, and I've got a family and a home..." His face softened despite the tone of his voice as Winry turned to grab another shirt, exposing the pronounced bulge of her belly. Then he closed his eyes again. "But is this all there is? I don't really feel any different than I did all those years. I expected everything to be different. _Everything._"

Frowning down at his hands in his lap, Alphonse thought for a minute before replying. "Maybe that's because we've always been happy."

Edward scoffed. "Right, I was _really_ happy every time someone was about to kill me."

"No, listen to me. All this time, we've always had this." He swept his arm wide to encompass everything – the house, the hills of Risenpool, Winry with her laundry, and the two of them. "We never really gave that up when we went on our journey. We took that happiness with us. The whole reason we went looking for the Stone in the first place was so we could keep that happiness, so we wouldn't die or lose hope. And even when we fought and lost things precious to us, nothing ever took away that happiness. Did it, Brother?"

Edward finally met his gaze at that word, and they looked into each other's eyes for a long moment of silent understanding. And slowly, a smile crept onto Edward's face – a true smile, with no cares tightening it and no hesitation lessening it. The soft look had returned, and it made Alphonse glow inside. "How do you do that?" he asked softly.

"Do what?"

"You always make everything okay again."

Alphonse's smile widened. "_Some_one's gotta be the silver lining to your stormclouds."

Edward chuckled and pushed himself up. "C'mon then, Sunshine. Let's see if Mrs. Happiness needs help with supper. I'm starving!"


	93. Shackles

**Author's Note: I've felt kind of like I've been wimping out in general over the past several chapters, so I wanted to write something that was more story-oriented and OVA-ish. As a result, I guess this ended up more like the Blind Alchemist side story than I thought it would. There is also influence on this story from reading a whole bunch of Shadow Mage Evelyn's fics where Mustang saves Ed or vice versa. The OC's name was the result of looking up names that meant "wise" and smooshing them together.**

**Timeline: During the quest for the Stone (after Youswell, before Lior, based on first anime)**

**Theme 93: Shackles**

Edward thought it was safe to say he'd never been on a mission quite like this. He was used to hunting down criminals, investigating corrupt officials, poking around shifty alchemic labs filled with experiments bordering on the illegal. But one thing he'd never been ordered to do for the State was go calling on one of the richest men in Amestris. Edward tried not to gape as the portly butler showed them through to the drawing room, passing through dark-paneled hallways filled with gleaming suits of armor, delicate statues, and ornamental vases. Having grown up in a poor town at the very eastern edge of the country, he wasn't used to such finery. Even Shou Tucker's mansion hadn't been this luxurious; it had merely looked like an oversized, extremely messy house. This...was a palace. The closest he had ever come to such an experience was Yoki's mansion in Youswell, but that dictator had only been in charge of a small mining town.

Finally the butler opened a heavy oak door and bowed them through it; Alphonse didn't even have to duck to get through the doorway. The drawing room was tastefully decorated, with a thick carpet on the floor, plush sofas littered about low tables, and a massive painting of Amestris' first Fuhrer hanging over the fireplace. With all these new sights bombarding him, Edward didn't even notice the man standing up to greet them until he spoke.

"Ah, the Full Metal Alchemist," he said, walking forward with his hand extended. His clothes were well tailored, but that was only to be expected; his waistcoat had been embroidered with red and gold thread in patterns that suggested transmutation circles, though Edward saw at a glance they weren't actually functional.

"Ethan Alvis?" Edward inquired, shaking the man's hand, though there was really no need to ask. He knew that narrow chin and the deepset, dark blue eyes from the newspapers. Alvis got onto the second or third page almost once a month, contributing to various charities or publishing some outstanding text that the alchemists would discuss for months to come.

Alvis smiled. "A pleasure to meet you, Edward Elric, a real pleasure. And this must be your brother?"

He turned to Alphonse, who bowed slightly and shook his proffered hand, murmuring, "Yes, I'm Alphonse Elric. The _younger_ brother," he hastily added.

Alvis chuckled. "I can see how some people would make that mistake, but don't worry, I've done my homework. Won't you sit down?"

Edward sank into one of the soft couches while Alphonse perched nervously next to him, most likely afraid he would break something. Alvis sat in a chair across from them. "So why did you ask me to come here?" Edward asked, getting right down to business. "All my superior said was that you requested my presence specifically."

Alvis leaned back, still smiling, his eyes intent on Edward's face. "I wanted to meet the Full Metal Alchemist for myself. Your fame has spread all across the country! The Hero of the People, that's what they call you. A State Alchemist who actually cares about the common man."

Edward shrugged, brushing off that silly title that had followed him for the past few years. "I just do what anyone else would in my position."

Alvis cocked his head curiously. "That's not true, and you know it. There are plenty of corrupt men in charge of this country, men who lack the smallest measure of concern while they trample commoners underfoot."

Edward shrugged again. "Well," he said simply, "I'm not a man."

Suddenly the butler stepped into the room again, bowed as low as his girth would permit, and announced, "Dinner is served, sir."

Alvis rose from his chair. "Won't you join me?"

Alphonse made the tiniest noise of distress, and Edward's mind flitted to the hassle Alphonse would go through, trying to pretend he could eat. "Um, we don't want to bother you for too long," he began, trying to think of a way out of this. "We really should be going soon; we've got a lot of res-"

"Alphonse needn't worry about pretending to eat."

It took a moment for those words to sink in. Edward stared at Alvis warily.

Alphonse voiced the question growing in his mind. "How did you know?"

"The sound of your footsteps," Alvis said with a slightly apologetic smile. "The echoes indicated that armor was hollow. I had my suspicions the first time I saw a picture of you in the paper, but I wanted to confirm it myself: You are a successful soul bonding."

Edward had to admit, he was impressed. It would take an incredible amount of skill, experience, and concentration to be able to tell that simply from the echoes. "You're good," was all he managed to get out.

"My specialty is aural alchemy," Alvis said modestly. "I've been analyzing the sounds of various transmutations to determine whether there is any correlation between them and the molar masses of the elements involved."

"Yeah, I read some of your book," Edward said. He didn't add that he thought the whole thing was a load of hogwash, and absolutely useless to boot. Who _cared_ whether different elements made different sounds? As long as he could transmute them, he honestly didn't care.

Somehow, without saying anything and hardly moving, the butler reminded them of his presence, and Alvis smiled apologetically at him. "Why don't we continue this conversation over dinner?"

Edward looked up at Alphonse, then agreed. He _was_ pretty hungry.

* * *

Over the large dinner, which Edward plowed through as steadily as he could without being _too_ rude, the brothers and Alvis discussed various alchemic techniques. Alphonse got into a friendly argument about Alvis' theories while Edward devoured his chicken, and of course they ended up telling Alvis exactly how and why Alphonse's soul had been bound to his armor. Alvis proved to be an intelligent and proficient alchemist, though Edward privately thought he got hung up too much on issues that barely mattered.

Finally, as the servants carried out the remains of the chocolate cake (of which Edward had eaten two rather large pieces), Alvis leaned forward and steepled his fingers over the table. "You are remarkably intelligent, Mr. Elric. I suppose you would have to be, to become a State Alchemist at that age."

"You could probably become a State Alchemist yourself, sir," Alphonse spoke up. "You've certainly got enough skill for that."

Alvis grimaced. "I'm afraid I've lost faith in that institution. How many wars have we had in recent years? And then there's the ill-handled Ishbal situation, not to mention all the freedoms we've lost in new legislation. No, I have little love for the State." Then his face brightened as he looked across at Edward. "But that's where _you_ can help me, Edward! Think of the injustices you've encountered in the military – the corruption, the bribery, the insensitivity to the hardships the common people endure. I know you don't agree with their policies. I know you don't appreciate being – forgive me – a dog of the military. But together, we can change things!" His earnest expression began to take on an almost fanatical cast. "We can overthrow those running this country and reform it in such a way that everyone will benefit! Deconstruction and reconstruction! Equivalent Trade!"

Edward stared at Alvis. How fast he'd gone from an intelligent alchemist to a raving lunatic. "Sorry, Alvis," he said, preparing to get up from the table. "I _need_ the State. Holding this position is the only way I know to get my brother's body back – and that's the most important thing to me right now. I don't like everything about the way this country's run...but that can wait. Now if you'll excuse us, we really need to-"

Edward tried to stand up, but found he couldn't. Looking down in confusion, he saw that somehow his pant legs had become fused with the legs of his chair. A quick glance told him Alphonse was having the same problem. He whipped his head around to look at Alvis. "Hey, what gives?"

Alvis got to his feet, a look of cold satisfaction on his face. "I took the necessary precautions. Because I am _not_ about to let you simply walk away, not when you know my intentions."

Edward growled irritably. "That's stupid; all I have to do is just-" He made to clap his hands and free himself, but suddenly he felt strong hands hold his arms apart. Looking to both sides in alarm, he saw two of the servants who had waited on them holding his arms straight out. Two more did the same with Alphonse.

Alvis casually walked around the table. "You _will_ help me with my plan, Edward Elric. Soon, you will see the light, and together we will be undefeatable."

"Like hell I will," Edward said, struggling vainly against his captors' grip.

Alvis merely smiled and touched one of his cuff links, which glowed a familiar blue. A strange ringing sound seemed to wash over Edward like waves, and even though the servants let him go and moved out of the way, he found he couldn't move. The weird reverberations bounced around his head, making him feel dizzy, and then he felt himself slumping sideways into darkness.

* * *

"Brother!" was the first thing Edward heard when he groaned and struggled to regain consciousness. Normally, this would be an immensely comforting thing to hear, something to anchor him through the pounding headache that was the next thing he became aware of. But the voice that said it was filled with fear, and that meant something was Very Wrong.

With a colossal effort, Edward managed to open his eyes. Then he blinked slowly, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. He lay in some dimly-lit underground room that smelled like it had once been used as a wine cellar, though the room was completely bare now. Ethan Alvis stood over him, waiting patiently and triumphantly for him to wake up. Edward turned his head to the side, and saw Alphonse leaning against the wall beside him, his arms and legs detached and sitting in a corner. Edward tried to push himself upright, then suddenly realized something that made a sliver of cold dread run down his spine.

His arm and leg were gone.

Alvis watched the comprehension dawn on Edward's face, then grabbed him by his shirt front and pulled him up somewhat roughly to sit against the wall like his brother. "Do you know why I took your limbs away?" he asked, in a tone a parent might use after punishing a naughty child.

Edward shook his head mutely, shivering as he felt the cold air against his bare skin. Alvis had torn a sleeve and a large chunk of his pant leg to get at his automail. And now he was utterly defenseless.

"I took them away so you could realize your potential." Alvis put a fatherly hand on Edward's remaining shoulder. "All these goals and efforts filling up your life...they're holding you back, Edward. The State is wasting you on unimportant missions that never let you reach your full potential. And your brother...your quest to regain his body has consumed your whole life. You spend all this time looking for the Philosopher's Stone, time that could be spend doing something more worthwhile! But I am going to free you, Edward. I will be your savior!"

The manic glint was back in his eyes, and Edward recoiled as much as he could – which, admittedly, wasn't much.

Alvis picked up a piece of paper from the floor and held it before Edward's eyes. "This is your letter of resignation. I'm going to send it in right now, and you will no longer be a dog of the military. All you need to do is sign."

"No way." Edward scowled as best he could when he was terrified. Without his automail, he was nothing but a crippled teenager. Alvis could probably keep him at bay with one hand tied behind his back.

"Edward," the man said admonishingly, looking disappointed and reaching over to lift Alphonse's helmet off. "I'm trying to help you. And you need to listen to me and do what I say." He pulled a fountain pen out of his waistcoat pocket and, before either of the boys could cry out in alarm, whipped it through the air. The flash of sharp metal stopped just short of the circle of blood within the armor.

Edward stiffened for a moment, staring with horror at the innocuous pen. One little scratch, one tiny mark of ink, and Alphonse would be gone forever. With a curse, Edward snatched the paper out of Alvis' hands and balanced it as well as he could on his one knee.

"There we go," Alvis said in satisfaction, handing the pen to Edward. "You're beginning to learn."

Edward's throat felt tight as he signed his name with the pen that had almost killed his brother, knowing that he was dooming Alphonse anyway.

Alvis took the paper and pen back, setting them out of reach, then turned back to Alphonse. "Now there's only one more step, and all your shackles will fall away, Edward. You need to realize that your brother is a liability – just look at how easily I manipulated you! Once you have accepted this, we can move forward with our plan."

Alvis stood from where he had been squatting in front of the brothers, and placed his hand on the wall above their heads. Too late, Edward thought to look up, and saw a transmutation circle sketched there in chalk. He assessed the purpose of the symbols in the circle just in time to whip his head around and hear Alphonse crying out in fear. Before his very eyes, the steel of the armor morphed and shifted almost grotesquely, slowly elongating and twining about itself.

"Al!" he screamed, reaching out his only hand as all recognizable features of his brother's armor disappeared. Suddenly he felt metal clamping around his wrist, and with only a few more hisses and sparks, the transmutation ended. In the ringing silence, Edward stared in horror at what the alchemist had created.

A strong chain, as thick as Edward's thigh, ran from the wall to his wrist, where a band of metal held him in place. Right in the middle of this band, where the face of a wristwatch would be, gleamed the blood seal, mercifully intact. Edward drew in a shuddering breath as he felt his heart begin to beat again. "Al?" he whispered fearfully.

"I'm here, Brother," came the shaky reply, emanating from the metal and blood.

Edward's shoulders slumped with relief. Alvis picked up the letter of resignation, wiped the circle off the wall, and pocketed the pen, taking away every last chance the brothers had for transmuting themselves out. "Think about what I said," he told Edward, leaving the room and closing the door firmly behind him.

When the echoes of his footsteps finally faded away, Edward drew in a deep breath, looking at the chain that was his brother. "I really thought you were done for there," he said shakily, but that thought made his chest feel tight, so he tested the strength of the metal. It had been transmuted smoothly into the wall, and was far too thick to break with one hand. The only way out of this would be alchemy, but with only one hand and no writing implements...

Then Alphonse spoke up. "He's right, you know."

"Huh?" Edward looked down at the blood seal in surprise.

"I _do_ hold you back. If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't have even become a State Alchemist, and you wouldn't have to do all these things. If I just-"

"Don't listen to that old geezer," Edward interrupted. "He has no idea what he's talking about." He scowled at the door. "I'm not looking for the Stone because you're making me. I'm doing it because that's _my_ choice. You didn't _make_ me care about you, I just want to. I bet that Alvis guy never cared about anybody but his own stupid self."

Silence fell upon the pair of them for several long minutes, until Edward asked the blood seal, "What are you thinking?"

"That I wish I could hug you right now."

Edward laughed in spite of the horrible predicament they were in. "You kind of are already," he said softly, fingering the band of metal enclosing his wrist. He turned his hand over and rested his cheek against the metal, wishing he _could_ feel Alphonse's cold arms, but grateful that he could even talk to his little brother. Grateful that he wasn't dead.

A faint pulsing against his cheek gave him an idea, and he steeled himself, because he knew this was their only chance to make it out. "Al, don't freak out, okay?"

"Wha-"

Before he could think better of it, Edward bit his wrist as hard as he could, at the part where his blue veins ran up towards his thumb, pulsing just under the surface of his skin. Pain flashed up his arm, his body warning him that he was in danger, but he ignored it and tore at his flesh again.

"Brother, what are you doing?"

Edward tore deeper, growling with the pain and feeling as though he literally was a dog. He only stopped when he tasted a sharp, sour burst in his mouth, and he pulled his mouth away to see blood gushing out into his palm. Good, he'd gone deep enough so it wouldn't clot right away.

"Brother..."

"Don't worry," Edward said, pushing the throb in his wrist to the back of his mind. He closed his hand and rubbed his fingertips in his blood, holding his hand down so it would only trickle onto the floor, not the blood seal. Then, before the blood could dry, he painted it onto the portion of the wall that had been fused with the metal, working as quickly as he could and wetting his fingertips twice more.

His blood turned from red to blue as he activated the circle, and he focused all his might on morphing that metal into the armor he knew so well. He left the arms and legs off, but as soon as the transmutation was finished, he crawled awkwardly over to the corner and retrieved them.

"Brother, you shouldn't have done that!" Alphonse cried as Edward fastened the clasps clumsily.

"And how _else_ were we going to get out?"

"We might have thought of something else..."

"Yeah right," Edward muttered as he moved to Alphonse's left arm, the last of his limbs.

"Wait. Your automail's not in here, is it?"

Edward looked around, but it was immediately obvious the rest of the room was empty. "Looks like it."

"Then use my arm to make an arm and leg!"

"But it's your-"

Somehow, Alphonse managed a stern look without a face or even a helmet. "You need your alchemy, and you need to be able to run. That looks like enough material. And besides, you're already giving up way more than I am."

Edward looked down and saw a small puddle of blood on the floor. More dripped down even as he watched, and he grimaced. That was what you got for opening a vein. But he couldn't argue with Alphonse's words, so he drew another circle in the blood and made two crude limbs from the material, fusing them over his skin so they wouldn't fall off. "Winry's gonna kill me," he muttered as he tried standing up.

Though the leg was a little wobbly, and though the joints were nowhere near as sophisticated as he was used to, the makeshift arm and leg did the job. "Let's go," he called to Alphonse, who had retrieved his helmet from the floor. He looked strange without one arm, but Edward supposed neither of them were going to win a beauty contest like this anyway.

The brothers met no resistance as they tiptoed down the hallway and snuck up the stairs. Edward decided not to bother trying to find the way out of this labyrinthine mansion, so at the first window they came to, he clapped his hands and transmuted a door to the outside. They ran down the lawn and had just come in sight of the main gates when a sudden sound blasted towards them. He barely had enough time to recognize the strange, dizzying sound and appreciate that the hedgerows were glowing blue, before he crashed to his knees, his head pounding fit to burst.

Alphonse, who had no eardrums and thus was not affected, skidded to a halt several feet ahead and turned to rush to his brother's side, when something cold pressed against Edward's throat and the armor froze in place.

At least the sound was gone, Edward thought dimly as he moved his eyes to the side and saw Alvis crouched there, holding him by the braid and pressing a gun hard against his jaw. "You foolish boy!" he snarled, looking crazier than ever. "You chose your _brother_ over this chance to change the world?"

Edward looked into those deep blue eyes and swallowed against the barrel of the gun, knowing he was mere seconds from death. But he was used to staring death in the face, so he said calmly, "Yeah. Every time."

Alvis' mouth twisted and his finger began to tighten around the trigger, when suddenly a loud _snap_ cut the air like a knife. Alvis whipped around immediately, dropping the gun and diving to the side as a blast of fire seared the dirt path where he had been standing. Another _snap_ sounded, and the hedges caught fire.

Edward was dimly aware of Alvis screaming, "No! No! Not my transmutation circle!" and soldiers rushing around to restrain him as he tried to put out the flames that were voraciously licking up the dry hedges. But everything seemed hazy in the aftermath of the threat to his life, and Edward felt himself wavering, then falling onto his back.

He opened his eyes only moments later, soon enough to see Alphonse bending over him and lifting him up, but his ears were ringing and spots were dancing before his eyes. Suddenly he heard footsteps and a familiar voice. "Are you boys all right?"

"My brother's not; he-"

"Full Metal!" the man yelped, his deep voice rising almost an octave as he dropped in front of the brothers. His hands, still gloved, shot out towards Edward's left arm and closed around it.

Edward, wincing at the sudden contact against his wound, mumbled, "What're you...Mustang...?"

"What on _earth_ were you...no, never mind, tell me later." Mustang's eyes raked Edward's face, looking concerned as far as Edward could tell through the haze. "Can you hear me, Edward?"

"Uh...huh..." It took an immense amount of effort even to grunt. He felt his body growing heavier and heavier.

Mustang yelled over his shoulder, "Medic! We need a medic over here!" When he turned back around, his worried expression softened somewhat. "Don't worry, Edward. You're going to be all right."

"How did you know where to find us?" Alphonse asked when Edward found he couldn't reply.

"Because I know Full Metal would never be that polite to me, even in a letter of resignation."

Edward's lips tugged upwards as his eyelids began to close.

"How did he get like this? He's lost so much blood..."

"It was to save me."

Those were the last words Edward heard before he lost consciousness.


	94. From Yesterday

**Author's Note: This and the following two themes have an obvious connection, so I wanted to write three companion-chapters that all deal with the same thing. The only question was, what would connect the three other than time? What was something that could be dealt with in past, present, and future? There were many possibilities, but this was the one that resonated the most with me.**

**Timeline: Pre-automail installation**

**Theme 94: From yesterday**

It was a morbid curiosity that led him to this place. By all rights, he should have been too terrified to ever set foot in his old house again, after everything that had happened in it. He had spent the entire night (which had dragged on and on beyond belief, especially after Winry and Granny had gone to sleep) thinking about this little room, imagining it in the darkness. And that should have scared him away even further. But here he was, staring at the front door.

The door, painted white like the siding of the house but with a frame of mahogany, stood wide open. He remembered flinging it aside as he rushed to the Rockbells' house, holding his brother in his arms and running faster than he ever had in his life. At the time, he'd been far too worried about his brother being an inch from death, but as he looked back at it now he thought of how _wrong_ it was that he'd been able to run without gasping for breath or growing tired, and that he'd even been able to carry Edward in the first place. That wasn't the way it was supposed to be.

Taking a deep breath – no, he didn't need to breathe anymore, did he? - Alphonse stepped through the door into the hallway. Everything looked so _normal._ It was almost insulting, like the house was asking him what the big deal was when they'd both almost died. Going the same way as their mother... The house was well acquainted with death.

As Alphonse walked down the hallway, filling the empty house with unfamiliar clanking, he looked down at the floor and noticed dried spots of blood staining the wood. He followed it like a trail of breadcrumbs, as though he didn't know every step of the way, and finally came to the study at the back of the house.

He couldn't help it. He paused in the doorway, not looking even though sunlight was streaming in through the windows, trying to steel himself for what he knew he would see here. His heart pounded – no, it didn't; he was just standing there silently, feeling nothing, as empty as this desolate house. Realizing he was being stupid, Alphonse stepped in and stared straight at the remains of what the transmutation had created. He felt no shudder of his heart, no catch of his breath, no tingling of his nerves, as he stared at the mangled mess of flesh and blood that might have been – could have been – he hoped not – his mother. His nose did not tingle, his stomach did not heave, when he looked at the blood smeared all around the room and the puddle of Edward's vomit that the flies had already found.

None of the usual signals of his body alerted him to what he was feeling, and somehow that made the emotions even harder to bear. He stood there, still and silent, expressionless, empty, as though he didn't care at all... But he did. The hollowness in his soul ached in a way Alphonse couldn't remember ever feeling except at his mother's funeral. And somehow, the absence of the tears he had shed that day, the mucus running out of his nose, the shuddering heaves of his lungs, made this so much harder to bear.

Alphonse didn't know how long he stood there like that, staring at the results of their horrible, irreversible mistake, but the sun had risen above the window by the time he moved again. He crossed the room, skirting around the red puddles Edward had made when he had gone for the armor, until he reached a pile of clothing off to the side. It looked forlorn and empty, as though asking him what it had done wrong. Bending down from his considerable height, Alphonse picked up the shirt and shorts, the socks and shoes, and held them in his too-big hands, staring at them. How on earth had he ever fit into something so small?

The pain was still there.

Alphonse trudged back the way he'd come, treading the familiar path he'd followed almost every day of his life. They'd spent so many happy days with Winry here, but Alphonse knew instinctively that there would never be any more days filled with idle games and casual conversations. They had already begun to draw away from Winry in the year leading up to their transmutation, focusing all their attention on their greatest desire. And now, now that they'd achieved what they thought they wanted, now that it was all over...they could never return to the way things were. Alphonse had thought the world would never be the same when their mother died, but now their lives were altered even more. When they'd stared death in the face and barely won, how could they go back to games of catch and tag?

The house was quiet when he carefully ducked through the door, but he could hear pans rattling in the kitchen. Good, he was beginning to get hungry... No. He wasn't. Of course not. Would he ever feel hungry again? To keep himself from such thoughts, Alphonse hurried to the room they'd put Edward in. He opened the door as quietly as he could, but when he poked his head through he saw that his brother was awake.

Edward just stared at the ceiling, his eyes blank, his left hand fiddling with the edge of the bandage on the stump of his right shoulder. "Does it...does it hurt, Brother?" he asked timidly.

A shrug was the only answer Edward gave, but the wince when he moved his mangled shoulder told him enough.

Hoping to take Edward's mind off the pain, if only for a little while, Alphonse held up the clothes and said softly, "Look what I found. They're...from yesterday."

Edward turned his head slightly, taking him in from armor to ridiculously small shoes. "That's nice," he mumbled vaguely, then returned to his scrutiny of the ceiling.

Alphonse's shoulders slumped and he stared at his brother. It was like he didn't care. And it hurt again, the ache rising up worse than ever. He slammed the clothes down on the chair by Edward's bed and stomped out of the room. He blinked, fighting back tears... No. He had to stop doing this. He had no normal human reactions anymore. There was nothing for it; he just had to get used to it, and accept that he was no longer really a human.

"Morning, Al!" Winry said, perhaps not as brightly as usual but just as kindly as ever. She had a basin of water in her hands, with a cloth that Alphonse assumed was to cool Edward's forehead.

She made to pass him, but Alphonse called her name before she could touch the doorknob. He stared at her for a moment, wishing he could feel a lump forming in his throat. When it wouldn't come, he just said softly, "Brother won't talk to me. And I want to. I want to talk with him about what...what happened...but he barely listens to me. He hardly even looks at me."

Winry's expression softened and she came a few steps closer. "Alphonse," she said, following Edward's example and using his full name. It was a small comfort, but it helped a little. She looked up earnestly into his face, into his eyes that he knew were now nothing but pinpricks of light in a helmet. "Don't you know? He _misses _you."

Alphonse was taken aback. "Misses me? But I'm right here..." His voice trailed off as he remembered that he wasn't _all_ there. He looked down at his metal arms. "Is my body really that important to him?"

Winry smiled sadly up at him. "You just...look so different now. I mean, when you talk I know it's you, but...it's like you're just talking on the phone, because I can't _see_ you. And you know Ed – he doesn't do things by halves. If you're not all here, then...he misses you."

Alphonse watched Winry disappear into the room, thinking over what she'd said. With his metal shell, he didn't appear to be hurting to outside eyes. Was his brother the same? Then, slowly, he followed. Edward looked much the same, with the same blank eyes and pinched face, despite the care Winry was taking to wipe the sweat off his feverish brow. But one thing was different, and it made the pain constrict a little but somehow become easier to deal with.

Edward's left hand clutched a familiar shirt – as though it was the only meaning in this empty existence.


	95. Now

**Author's Note: My friend Dailenna wrote an excellent chapter for this theme in her Royai 100 Themes fic. Everything seemed to narrow right down to a sharp point at the very last word, like everything was tensing up, until the last word let everything fly like a spring. I tried to do something kind of like that here, but I don't think I succeeded quite as well as she did. Regardless, here is one of my many ideas of improvement for the end of the first anime.**

**Timeline: Episode 51 (first series AU)**

**Theme 95: Now**

Lying immobile in captivity, Alphonse had a lot of time for thought. As the hours dragged on, with Envy never even coming in to taunt him, he came to grips with his predicament. There was no way he could get out, and they were using him to lure his brother here. Edward would come, of course, just as fast as he could. He would do everything in his power to free his little brother, even to the point of doing whatever it was they wanted him for. He'd seen it happen before, in Lab 5. And now it would happen again.

The only solution, he thought as Envy carried him from the bedroom down to the enormous ball room, was to make the first move. But when they placed him on the enormous transmutation circle carved into the floor, he discovered that Edward had already come and gone. Of course the Homunculi wouldn't say what they'd done with him, but they seemed to think he was no longer a problem for them. Gone for good.

Dead?

So he lay there numbly, letting them do what they wanted with him, because what was the point anymore? _I never even got to say goodbye..._ He didn't care if Gluttony was eating him steadily up. He didn't care if they used the Stone to take over the world or renew Dante's body or kill everyone he knew. He couldn't even _move_ without his brother in the world.

But suddenly, Edward was there again, yelling with fury and pushing through the Gate that had appeared in midair. Before Alphonse could grasp what had happened, Edward was fighting. He caught glimpses of the familiar fighting style as the slim boy faced off against a Homunculus and one of the most skilled alchemists in the world. Slowly, he felt life return to him. There was his brother, as lively and active as ever, and everything was right with the world.

So he waited for the right moment, keeping one eye on Gluttony and one on Edward's battle. And just as Edward faltered, as Envy prepared for the kill, Alphonse leapt to his feet and whirled Gluttony around, heaving the mass of flesh right into Envy's face. Edward leapt into action when Dante started forward, growling that she had to do everything herself, and he _clapped._

When the blinding light and the echoing screams had faded away, the only people in that ball room were the two brothers and a fist-sized lump of glowing red stone. Alphonse knelt awkwardly, slumped to the side because of how much of his armor Gluttony had eaten, and blood poured from several wounds in Edward's body. At first they could only stare at each other, listening to the ringing silence, as they realized that it was all over. Their struggle was over. They'd achieved their goal.

Slowly, slowly, Edward bent down and picked up the Stone, cradling it in his hands as he limped over to where Alphonse crouched. Alphonse could hear the scrape of metal on metal, and wondered how badly his leg was hurt. "I'm getting you back now, Al," Edward whispered, coming to a stop right in front of him.

Alphonse felt a thrill of excitement run through the deepest core of his soul, and he waited silently. But Edward just stood there, frowning down at the Stone as though trying to figure out how to say what was on his mind. "Brother," Alphonse spoke up quietly, trying to help, "I think it's right that the people who caused us so much pain are now going to help us heal. It's Equivalent Trade."

Edward nodded. "Look," he finally said, slowly forming the words as though tasting them in his mouth before pronouncing them. "I'm not saying that I don't want to do this. But...you know...it's still human transmutation. It might not work."

Their eyes met briefly as they both remembered the heap of flesh that had been the only result of their previous attempt.

"I'm just saying that I...might lose you, and I can't...I mean...I'd just... If that happens, I'll...miss you...so much..."

"Brother," Alphonse cut in quietly, closing his hands around Edward's and the Stone, gazing into his pain-filled face, "I miss you _now._"


	96. Tomorrow, Too

**Author's Note: I actually came up with this one first, before the other two chapters dealing with missing each other. I decided to write this when I started crying **_**after**_** having a great conversation with my brother on the phone. It was like I didn't let myself acknowledge that I missed him until **_**after**_** we were together again. I thought that would apply very well to the brothers, so I made sure it would fit for the other time periods, and wrote them all up in a jiffy.**

**Timeline: Postseries**

**Theme 96: Tomorrow, too**

Alphonse had never noticed it before. When he'd first gotten his body back, he'd never seen Edward sleep. After much cajoling, Edward had managed to convince the nurses to set up a little cot for him so he could stay in the same room even though he didn't need medical attention himself. Alphonse had always been a little afraid of the dark, and his years as a suit of armor that couldn't escape the darkness even in sleep had only made it worse. So when he'd finally been able to close his eyes and drift off, the black pits behind his eyelids made his heart pound. What if he never woke up? As soon as he'd woken up in the suit of armor, he'd never been able to go to sleep. So what if he closed his eyes now and was never able to open them again?

So Edward sat at his side, patiently waiting for him to fall asleep, sitting with his left hand on the bed where Alphonse could reach over and touch it when he needed to know he wasn't alone. After the first couple of weeks, Alphonse began to calm down as repeated incidents of sleeping convinced him everything was okay again. Then Edward went off every night to sleep in his own room, and Alphonse wouldn't see him till the next morning.

This night, the first night in Risenpool after over a month in the hospital in Central, Alphonse woke to the sound of muffled sniffling. He was a very light sleeper now, and often woke up briefly throughout the night. Always before, he simply rolled over and went back to sleep, but tonight he blinked himself further awake, trying to figure out where the sound was coming from.

He came fully awake when he realized there was only one place it _could_ come from. In shock, he pushed himself up onto his elbows and looked across the room to the other bed. He could only see a vague lump and a light blur that he thought was hair, but the quiet sounds continued. A barely audible sob, muffled under the blankets, pierced through the air and lanced right into Alphonse's heart. As quietly as he could, he slipped out of bed and tiptoed across the floor, moving under the cover of the sounds Edward was making.

When he came closer, he saw that Edward lay facing the wall, his entire face buried in blankets and his spare pillow, leaving his back exposed. "Brother?" Alphonse whispered, gently touching his side.

Edward immediately stiffened and fell silent for a moment or two, as though wondering whether he could get away with it or not. Then he seemed to realize there was no way to pretend he hadn't just been crying, and rolled onto his back. The dim light from behind the curtains illuminated streaks down his face, and Alphonse knelt down so they could look each other in the eye.

"What is it?" he whispered. "Did you have another nightmare?"

Another sob broke out of Edward's mouth, and he pressed a fist against it to muffle it again. He squeezed his eyes shut, then mumbled past his knuckles, "I...I m-miss you!"

The tears were coming faster now, the heaving breaths shaking Edward's whole body. Alphonse tried to quiet him, rubbing his side soothingly. "Shhh, I'm here, Brother, I'm here."

"M-miss you..."

"I'm right here. And I'll be here tomorrow, too. I'm not going anywhere."

But his words didn't seem to be helping. Edward pulled away, turning back to the wall and curling up with his hands over his head, still shedding tears he fought to suppress. Finally he spoke. "I kn-know it's stupid. I know you're right there. But a-all this time, I've always...missed you."

Alphonse stared at his brother's back. All this time? Had he been crying ever since Alphonse had regained his body? He remembered his own adjustments to their new situation, the tension that had suddenly left him once their problems were fixed and their threats eliminated. Edward had seemed the same as usual, always there to help him. But what if...what if his adjustment had been just as hard as getting used to a physical body again? What if Edward held himself together for his little brother, only to break down as soon as they were apart?

What if he was finally finding an outlet for all the tears he had never shed?

Edward had hardly ever cried after their mother died. Sometimes something would catch him off his guard like when Nina Tucker had been killed, or he would be in a desperate situation like when Barry the Chopper had nearly butchered him, and tears would fall. But he'd never cried over their situation in general, never cried over how frightened he was, never even cried out of frustration or pain. And he never _ever_ cried over Alphonse's predicament. Maybe he thought that would make it even harder to bear.

But now...now that the Homunculi were gone, they'd found the Stone, and their lives were normal again... Now he could let go of all the restraints and walls he'd built around his heart when he forced himself to grow up. And just like Alphonse had needed a hand to hold and a voice to tell him he was safe even though the darkness was scary, maybe Edward needed someone to see him through the night as well.

Alphonse perched on the edge of the bed and heaved Edward upright. Ignoring the surprised intake of breath, Alphonse wrapped his arms around his brother and rocked him gently from side to side. "I miss you too," he murmured.

And the tears began to fall.


	97. If I Die

**Author's Note: Having already written a chapter based on the question, "What would you do if I died?" I was rather stumped by this one for a bit. Then I thought of a brief mention in my fic "Nothing But Everything" of a time when Ed is attacked by an extremist in Ishbal and nearly killed, and he calls Al to tell him where his will is. And suddenly, inexplicably, when I thought of Edward saying that, the second line of this chapter popped into my head. The rest followed as a matter of course.**

**Timeline: Postseries**

**Theme 97: "If I die"**

_For feathersnow - I hope this will suffice ^_^_**  
**

"If I die," he rasped, "you'll find my will in the top drawer on the right-hand side of my desk."

"Brother, you're just getting your wisdom teeth out."

Edward lifted his head weakly from the dentist chair, where he'd been reclining while they waited for the dentist to show up. He gave his brother a look that said clearly, _What's your point?_

With difficulty, Alphonse kept from rolling his eyes. "Don't worry," he said, patting the hand clutching the arm of the chair in a death-grip. "They'll give you some anesthetic; it won't even hurt that much, you'll see."

Apparently, this was the wrong thing to say; Edward's lower lip actually began to tremble. He reconsidered. "Oh – that's why?"

"They're gonna stick needles into me," Edward whimpered.

Alphonse let his breath out in a huff of exasperation and rested his forehead against his fingertips. His brother had had two of his limbs _ripped off,_ installed two automail limbs at the same time, been stabbed within an inch of his life countless times, and even been impaled on a metal stake which he had then ripped from his stomach while still conscious. And here he was, afraid of a tiny prick of pain. "Look..." he said slowly, trying to figure out a way to get Edward to see sense.

But just then the dentist finally appeared in the doorway, greeting them cheerfully, and Edward lay back resignedly in his chair, his knuckles white. Alphonse would have been inclined to laugh at the look on Edward's face when the syringe came out, had he not looked so pitiful and small. His whole body tensed up, making the chair creak warningly, as the needle went in, but it was over in an instant and then he slowly relaxed. Alphonse was just grateful the days were past when he'd have to bodily restrain his brother at the merest hint of the _n-word. _Maybe he _had_ matured after all.

After the procedure was done and they made their way back home, however, Alphonse felt he had thought too soon. Anesthetic and Edward Elric didn't mix too well, and when you added dull pain and the aftermath of intense nervousness, you had a recipe for a very long day. Edward whined and moaned all the way home, so as soon as they got back Alphonse put him to bed. The moans followed him out of the room, though, as though Edward wanted to make sure he knew how uncomfortable this was. Alphonse rolled his eyes as he heard a particularly loud, plaintive moan echoing down the hallway. He never made this big a fuss about automail, which had to be much more painful than just a few teeth.

"You _do_ know you're being pathetic, don't you?" Alphonse asked when he brought him a drink a few minutes later.

"Shu' up," Edward mumbled, his voice muffled under the blanket as he lay curled into a ball as though that would help the pain.

"Really, Brother," he continued, crossing his arms. "You're getting _married_ in three months; don't you think you should stop acting like a baby?"

Edward poked his head over the top of the blanket and stuck out his lower lip. "Winry'd treat me right. She wouldn't torment me when I'm in pain like this..."

Alphonse rolled his eyes. "She'd hit you over the head with a wrench, and you know it. Well, I'm not your fiance, so I won't do that – but you _do_ need to stop feeling sorry for yourself." Flicking his brother in the forehead, he turned and left, ignoring the vicious grumbling behind him.

But he wasn't too upset as he went into the kitchen and set about making some soup. He was very glad that all his brother had to worry about now were wisdom teeth and needles.


	98. After the Rain

**Author's Note: Happy FMA Day, everyone! In honor of this momentous day (the only 3 Oct. 10 we will be alive for, most likely), I am posting the final three chapters today. This one is based on one story in particular I read a long time ago, about Ed and Al taking care of themselves after their metal rusted. I wish I could remember the title, but oh well. Rust is certainly a problem when you're "full metal".**

**Timeline: Midseries**

**Theme 98: After the rain**

"Rain sucks."

"Come on, Brother," came the patient reply. "It can't be _that_ bad."

"Well, it is," Edward said petulantly. He glanced over at Alphonse, sitting on the floor with his legs lying in pieces all around him, calmly rubbing a cloth over the metal. It was all right for _him;_ he'd only gotten wet a little past the knees, and after a little scrubbing and a trip to the laundromat he'd be good as new.

Edward, on the other hand, sat trying to clean up the mess of rust that ran all up and down his arm. It was bad enough that it had been raining, but then when those bandits waylaid the caravan they were escorting and he lost his footing in the mud and they knocked him out and dragged him by the heel – the _flesh_ heel – through a swamp and left him there and he almost drowned until Alphonse came...well, to say he had a rust problem would be the understatement of the year.

After the rain had stopped, the bandits were put behind bars, and the caravan safely reached its destination, the brothers had crashed in this hotel. But while a long shower got rid of all the mud and blood caking his body, nothing could take back those hours the metal parts of his body had been submerged. Now glorious splotches of brownish-orange spread all across his arm like some freakish disease. After hours of work, he'd finally managed to clean up his leg, which had been protected somewhat by his thick pants. But it was much harder to get all the gunk out of the many overlapping plates in his arm that seemed designed specifically to produce rust.

His bad mood worsened when Alphonse reattached his legs and clambered to his feet, saying, "There," in a satisfied voice as he tested his joints for squeaking. Done already, though he'd started after Edward finished his leg, and Edward was still craning his neck around painfully, trying to see where the rust was on his largest shoulder plate.

"Here." A gauntlet gently turned his head back to the front and pulled the rag from his hand. Edward massaged his neck gratefully and listened to the rubbing, scraping sounds on his unfeeling shoulder.

He was sitting on a stool next to the window of their hotel room, so while Alphonse steadily worked his way over the metal (without having to pause for a tired hand), Edward gazed listlessly out at the street. This hotel was on a quiet street, so other than an occasional woman with a basket headed for market or a group of children chasing a ball down the street, there wasn't much to catch his eye. The sky was still overcast, and there were still puddles from the downpour of the last few days, but thankfully it wasn't raining anymore. The last thing they needed now was more rain.

Several boring minutes later, Alphonse's steady scrubbing ceased, and Edward looked around hopefully. "All done?"

"Um...I think I'm gonna need to take your arm off." His voice was tentative and apologetic, and Edward looked at him incredulously, sure he had to be joking. "I think some rust got into your port too."

Edward swore and reached under his right shoulder for the clamps, yanking on the little levers tucked out of sight till his arm clattered to the floor. This day just couldn't get any worse.

"Sorry," Alphonse mumbled, as if it was his fault. He carefully moved the arm aside and shuffled forward to peer into the shoulder port. "Uh-oh," he whispered.

Cautiously, Edward looked up from his brooding stare out the window. "Do I want to know?"

"Those whatchamacallits...you know, where the nerves connect...there's a lot of rust around there. I think it'll hurt."

Edward groaned. "Winry's gonna kill me." He pinched the bridge of his nose, braced himself, then said, "Do it."

It wasn't so bad at first. Alphonse was being as gentle as he could, avoiding the nerve sockets whenever he could, but Edward could feel the rough cloth sliding past. That was the only place in his arm where he still had sensation; the nerves were intact and allowed him to move his arm like normal even though he couldn't feel anything on the surface. It started off like a cross between an itch and a tickle; he clenched his left hand around his metal knee to keep himself from trying to scratch at his shoulder. He stared out the window and tried not to think about it.

Winry had once told him that itching and pain were related, and he couldn't stop thinking about that conversation as the sensation in his shoulder intensified. That was one of the many things she'd blabbered on about while trying to keep his mind off the pain that could never be completely covered by his medication. She must have told him enough medical things to fill a whole book while he lay in pain in between physical therapy and attempts to make his automail limbs work. She didn't have to do that, but still she did. She could be nice when she wasn't flinging metal implements around.

Edward drew in his breath sharply as the pain intensified. Alphonse paused, but Edward snapped, "No, keep going, keep going! Let's get this over with." He unconsciously started chewing on the end of his braid while his shoulder began to throb dully.

Finally, Alphonse announced, "Okay, I'm done. Are...you okay?"

Edward spat his hair out and gripped the stool with hand and feet. "I won't be after you stick my arm in, but that doesn't matter." He scrunched up his face, ready for the shock.

"I'm sorry," Alphonse said in a small voice again. "I wish it hadn't gotten so bad..."

Then the familiar blast of white-hot pain connected, running from his metal fingers to his brain, and he choked back a scream. For a moment or two, he lost all sense of direction and self. Nothing existed except that pain. But gradually it began to recede, and he found himself in Alphonse's arms, being lowered onto his bed.

Letting out an exhausted sigh and clutching his shoulder even though he knew it wouldn't help, he whispered weakly, "Thanks."

Alphonse knelt by the bed and pulled the blankets over him; he was beginning to shake from the intensity of the pain. "I was really scared earlier," Alphonse murmured. "You were lying face-down in the water. I thought..."

It was hard to concentrate on anything except his shoulder, but Edward forced his eyes to bring the helmet into focus. "'Sokay now," he mumbled. "We'll get our bodies back...'n won't hafta do this again. Can't wait..."

As Edward drifted off into exhausted sleep, Alphonse smoothed back the bangs sticking to his sweaty forehead. "Me neither."


	99. Welcome Home

**Author's Note: The words of this theme immediately made me think of the ending of the manga, particularly what Winry says to them. So I decided it would be nice to write a chapter showing Winry's perspective of the brothers. Because if anyone has the right to observe them and know them intimately, it's Winry.**

**Timeline: Postseries (meant to be manga, but it could be anything)**

**Theme 99: "Welcome home"**

"Welcome home." With those words, Winry's life had taken an upward turn, and before she'd realized what was happening, everything was so wonderful she was sure she must be dreaming. Sometimes, she would still wake up in the morning and lie in bed, trying to figure out if Edward and Alphonse really were here.

Smiling, Winry tucked a strand of hair out of the way behind her ear, and bent down to pick up the laundry basket. The screen door at the back of the house clanged shut and she heaved the basket over to the clothesline, the sun-warmed grass tickling her bare toes. From her position at the clothesline, she could see the brothers in the front yard: Edward watering the newly-planted grass and Alphonse straightening the fence.

Little by little, Winry framed her view of them with shirts and socks. For so many years, the clothesline had been filled with skirts and blouses and aprons and grease-stained overalls. Occasionally the brothers would bring dirty laundry with them when they came for repairs, but it was never very much. For whole days in a row, however, she had scrubbed men's shirts against the washboard, had wrung out leather pants, had hung up wool socks much too large for her own feet. And if even the clothesline reflected this change, Winry decided it must be real. Not even the most over-active imagination would dream about _laundry._

As she stretched one of Edward's black undershirts across the line and pinned it on, Winry remembered when they had come home at last. They'd been so nonchalant about it, walking up the path and calling out a greeting as though Alphonse wasn't in his real body like she'd been dreaming about for so long now, as though Edward wasn't raising his right hand in a wave that showed off his fingers of _flesh._ They were always like that – never giving the slightest hint that what they were doing was extraordinary. It was always, "Oh yeah, we got rid of all the Homunculi, no problem," as though it was _natural_ to go rushing all across the country, unearthing deadly secrets and putting their lives on the line to save the world.

Edward had been casually moving towards the edge of the plot of ground where he'd planted the grass, and now he suddenly sprang towards Alphonse, spraying him full-blast with the hose. Alphonse gave a girlish shriek and jumped a foot in the air, causing Edward to laugh so hard he dropped the hose, which promptly spun around and shot him in the mouth. Alphonse started to laugh too, and then the boys were tussling around, grabbing for the hose and narrowly missing the tender shoots of grass with their trampling feet.

Chuckling softly to herself, Winry closed her window on the scene with the blue pillowcases they only ever used in the boys' room and pinned them in place. If their stories were to be believed, the Elric brothers were perhaps the greatest heroes Amestris had ever known, and had performed outstanding feat after outstanding feat, but in the end they were just the same as they had always been. They were the same boys she'd grown up with, fought with, played with, laughed with.

Coming around the side of the clothesline, Winry grabbed the empty basket and looked over at them. Alphonse, sopping wet from head to foot, started running after Edward, who was cackling madly and already vaulting over the newly-repaired fence. "Brotherrrrr!" came the annoyed cry.

"Hey!" Winry yelled after them. "At least turn off the water first!"

But they didn't hear her. They were too busy being themselves.


	100. Until That Day

**Author's Note: I feel this is the perfect ending to this lengthy project. I can't believe I'm actually done! At least two and a half years of brainstorming, thinking up ideas, writing them down... This has been an amazing ride for me, exploring my love of these characters and improving my writing as I showcase my ideas. My goal in writing FMA fanfiction has always been to bring into prominence the two most important characters of the story, because so many people seem to disregard them in favor of their favorite pairing or whatever. I feel that I've succeeded with this fic, that I've managed to show just how important these two boys are to me and how I could never get over them or run out of situations that display who they are. I could probably write another 100 Themes for them, but I don't feel that's necessary. This fic shows them from all sides, so I hope that by reading these hundred chapters you can get the full picture of this amazing relationship. Thank you to everyone who's followed this story all this time! I really appreciate all the reviews and faves I've gotten. Happy FMA Day!**

**Timeline: Chapter 108/Episode 64  
**

**Theme 100: Until that day**

_For my Nii-san, my best friend, my other half -_

_You were there from the day I was born, you made me who I am today, and you found that Angel Ed picture that started this madness ^_^_

It was here at last, the day Alphonse had been secretly dreading for weeks. Oh sure, he'd had a hand in coming up with this idea, and had agreed with Edward that this was something they needed to do. Even though Edward had given up his ability to perform alchemy, he still understood all the theory; his mind was as sharp as ever. It made perfect sense that they should split up, Edward to the west and Alphonse to the east, so they could discover everything there was to know about alchemy. So they could perfect their theories and make this world a better place.

Even so...now that it came time to part, Alphonse had to struggle just to maintain his grip on his suitcase, to keep himself from running all the way back home and never leaving. He stood with his brother on the platform at the Risenpool train station, like so many times before. He held the suitcase in both hands just like always, and Edward was craning his neck to see if the train was coming yet, just like he always did. It was hard to think they would be separate from now on.

All too soon, the train pulled into the station with a shriek and Edward turned to him with an awful finality. "Well," he said in a would-be cheerful voice.

"Well," Alphonse replied quietly. He ran his gaze over his brother's familiar features, knowing he wouldn't see them for a very long time. He didn't want to forget.

"Take care of yourself, 'kay?" Edward smiled gently. "You're not metal anymore, so don't just go rushing into things."

Alphonse laughed, his heart lightening a little. "Speak for yourself. If you get into trouble in Creta, I won't be around to bail you out anymore."

With a grin and a chuckle, Edward said softly, "Yeah."

They stared at each other for a moment, gazing into each other's eyes – eyes that were golden like the sunrise, lifting up in hope as they looked to the future. "One year," Alphonse said determinedly, forcing himself to think of that day rather than all the days until then that would be spent without his brother, his best friend, his only family. "In one year, we'll come back to Risenpool and tell each other what we've discovered. So, until that day..."

Edward snorted. "Don't be so formal about it, silly. C'mere." And he pulled his brother close in a tight hug, as Alphonse had been wishing for all this time.

Alphonse dropped his suitcase and locked his arms across his brother's strong back, breathing in the familiar scent he knew he wouldn't smell for an unbearably long time. He didn't trust his voice enough to say _I'll miss you,_ but he tightened his arms and let them do the talking. And Edward's right hand rubbed his back a little, back and forth, whispering without words, _I know, I know. Me too._

Suddenly the train whistle shrieked through the air, and the embrace shattered as though struck by a sledgehammer. "I gotta go!"Alphonse cried, grabbing his suitcase again and hopping onto the train. Even as he clung to the handrail and hung out the open door, he felt a pang of regret. This wasn't the way he wanted to part, so suddenly like this.

With a chugging sound and a cloud of smoke, the train slowly began to move. "Al!" Edward trotted on the platform alongside the train. He raised his fist, his face blazing with the open, determined smile Alphonse knew so well.

With an almost identical grin, Alphonse leaned out and pounded his fist against his brother's. For an instant, their knuckles collided – flesh against flesh, bone against bone, no metal or gloves or gauntlets between them. Then Edward came to a stop at the edge of the platform and the train picked up speed, until Edward soared out of sight. But like the stinging crackle from a clap of alchemy, Alphonse could still feel his brother against his hand. Inside his heart.

Still smiling, Alphonse turned to face towards Central, towards Xing, towards the future. Because he knew Edward would be there, waiting for him, when he got back. Because they were at each other's backs, allowing them to move forward. Because not even ten thousand miles could truly separate them. Because they were brothers.

_The End_

**Author's Note: I've already decided on my next 100 Themes project, which will be entitled "Till I'm a Hundred, You Idiot" XD Can you guess who will be the focus of that story? (It's not the brothers again.) I like to keep some buffer chapters to allow me to post every week, so give me about a month before I start putting it up, but keep your eyes peeled! Thanks again!**


End file.
